Rache Poem by Erin Bryce

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I can hear my own heart beating
In my last and final few
And afore my soul departeth
I bequeath my tale to you

My minutes left are numbered
As both heart and limb are wrenched
I prepare to dine in underearth
For I lived my live blood-drenched

But my story has not yet been told
My viewpoints been neglected
This “grim demon” will not perish
‘Til the story’s been perfected

Yes I killed, raped, and stole,
Which I regret this final hour
But lie do I not when I say
I relished this arrant power

His iron grip hath ended me
And I concede to him this win;
But no man: alive or bereaved
Witnessed his terrible grin

Doth it yet surprise you,
That he marveled in my pain?
Yes, I tarnish the reputation of
Hygelac’s notorious thane

He hurt, he bruised, he killed as well,
But soiled was he not;
And so to draw his attention,
I journeyed to Heorot

He waited unmoving in the dark,
In strong and silent stealth,
And from this lengthy battle came?
My mortality and his wealth.

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Truth be told he hurt me too,
After blows to him I waged.
His brutal strength endeth this life:
Cause? He simply was enraged

But here I was a victim!
Who has long paid for his crime
What I pined for was acceptance
To become one of ye, with time

But instead my fate was different.
I was condemned to die.
Granted, I did massacre,
But all I did was try.

So praise him not, ye common fools!
Don’t lavish him in feast!
Note only what the facts prove true:
Beowulf was the beast!

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