To Valhalla We Must Go

Smash the sunset with Mjollnir's weeping fury
Let crows explode from their castled cones
over the graves of gritted-teeth skulls.
Let their fists burst the blood soil
and banshee at the bad night
The fight must never die, though we are home.

In august robes, the masters of entropy sleep
limp over thrones of marble decay
letters there to avoid memory
as blind as the dead,
the calcined trees of yesterday.

As trumpets herald midnight and silent guns
let wolves moan their savage flutes,
let moon rockets shoot at the moribund stars
and scream "no!"

Crucify nostalgia.
Set a new red flower to burn.
Set a new clock to wheel
and char the snow.

To Valhalla we must go.