Enjoy this reading of the poem Death of Sturm Brightblade by Michael Williams. This poem first appeared in Leaves from the Inn of the Last Home, released in 1987. Buy Leaves from the Inn of the Last Home: https://amzn.to/39TClwb
Death of Sturm Brightblade
Return this man to Huma’s breast:
Let him be lost in sunlight,
In the chorus of air where breath is translated;
At the sky’s border receive him.
Beyond the wild, impartial skies
Have you set your lodgings,
In cantonments of stars, where the sword aspires
In an arc of yearning, where we join in singing.
Grant to him a warrior’s rest.
Above our singing, above song itself,
May the ages of peace converge in a day,
May he dwell in the heart of Paladine.
And set the last spark of his eyes
In a fixed and holy place
Above words and the borrowed land too loved
As we recount the ages.
Free from the smothering clouds of war
As he once rose in infancy,
The long world possible and bright before him,
Lord Huma, deliver him.
Upon the torches of the stars
Was mapped the immaculate glory of childhood;
From that wronged and nestling country,
Lord Huma, deliver him.
Let the last surge of his breath
Perpetuate wine, the attar of flowers;
From the vanguard of love, the last to surrender,
Lord Huma, deliver him.
Take refuge in the cradling air
From the heart of the sword descending,
From the weight of battle on battle;
Lord Huma, deliver him.
Above the dreams of ravens where
His dreams first tried a rest beyond changing,
From the yearning for war and the war’s ending,
Lord Huma, deliver him.
Only the hawk remembers death
In a late country; from the dusk,
From the fade of the senses, we are thankful that you,
Lord Huma, deliver him.
Then let his shade to Huma rise
Out of the body of death, of the husk unraveling;
From the lodging of mind upon nothing,
we are thankful that you,
Lord Huma, deliver him.
Beyond the wild, impartial skies
Have you set your lodgings,
In cantonments of stars, where the sword aspires
In an arc of yearning, where we join in singing.
Return this man to Huma’s breast
Beyond the wild, impartial skies;
Grant to him a warrior’s rest
And set the last spark of his eyes
Free from the smothering clouds of wars
Upon the torches of the stars.
Let the last surge of his breath
Take refuge in the cradling air
Above the dreams of ravens where
Only the hawk remembers death.
Then let his shade to Huma rise
Beyond the wild, impartial skies.
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