A Boast

A Boast

Feel the heat of burning blood,
To the sword! To the sword!
Cut open their necks and repent
That you ever felt a chord
Of kinship, company, respect.
Ornament your pikes and lift
Severed bloat-eyed accolades;
Pageantry for all to see,
Bloody quench of thirsty blades.

I am he who will demand,
I am he who will betray,
I am he who counts the sand,
I am he; I am the sea.
I will rouse up from the depths
The ravager who takes his rest
On the floor of the flooded abyss.
Taste the strength of my blade,
Test the speed of my leg,
When I speak and say: It is I,
Surely you all will die.