5050
POETRY The Forge
Spring 2021
the valkyrie’s chosen By: Ethan H. Reynolds
The mallet strikes the anvil, Grease covering his wrinkled palms, Sweat dripping from crooked brow, He grunts with each passionate strike. A bullet rips through her shoulder Blood trickling down her arm, Yet she rises and fires upon the enemy As she bellows a deafening war cry. Heart and passion, bound to the soul, Are the keys to the clouds, the cosmos above. The horns of war blaze across an empty field, And those who answer with a yawp may survive, As Death himself is afraid of those without fear.
Artwork by Adam Frank