Beowulf Pastiche

So it was fate that had brought Grendel down

and future-cast at work in man’s victory.

But the hell homed demon was not alone and the only

a victim of fate for all are given such an affliction

as breath-cease serves both the hero and the horn rigged monster.

Soon it will be our hero’s duty and turn to submit to death;

forced by fate to give up glorious victory.

The warrior who breathes heavily one morn

will only rot in the earth the rest, reason to their notorious names “earth-dwellers”,

men and women descend to the very dust-slime they ascend from.

What great shield-clash there must be between mortals

two warriors fight to enjoy life’s honey-taste for a while longer,

they only postpone a day doomed to come, pointless to avoid.

In a battle’s fierce-cry frenzy any man may believe, even if for a moment

he is beyond the long-grasp of fate, an immortal god.

Almighty God surely determines who dies and lives,

who takes a seat in victory or stands in shameful loss,

a man’s worth is only determined after gracious God determines his end.

Vengeance is justice-made mourning, an exchange considered:

blood for tears, blades for pyres, war-galleys for burial ships.

Man’s fate must play out, it must eventually bring him to breath-cease,

vengeance troubles the wicked wyrd, tears only fulfill its desire.

Each glorious victory only means the earth-dweller one thing,

a glorious death escaped once is a humiliating death to be expected.