My Son, a Berserker

 

Chris Dickson

 

(After The North Sea by Patrick Von Kalckreuth)

 

“Berserker: An ancient Scandinavian warrior frenzied in battle and held to be invulnerable”

• Merriam-Webster (1828)

 

The dark blue sea is painted white by the crashing waves.

their rolling roar drowns the sound of the squawking seagulls. 

I try to imagine what you are doing at this moment,

but the sky is too beautiful to have thoughts like that.

 

I stand at the shore, cursing Odin for taking you away from me.

My son, possessed by the demons of the Northmen,

fled home to become a damned berserker.

Hark Odin! I damn ye!

 

This rough sea is where you left us, my son.

While you stain your sword with blood of the innocent,

your mother's tears stain the bed where you once sucked at her teat.

My own flesh and blood reduced to a ruthless warrior. 

 

The seagulls in the air remain still in their place,

like the bodies of the ones you kill.

Thick white clouds glide across the sky,

the way your sword does on a woman's neck.

 

The waves slowly rise then slam into the sea,

like a blacksmith's arm when making steel.

The white lines in the sea, veins in the body,

veins you now drain the life of.

 

In the beautiful chaos of the sea,

nothing reminds me of you,

but everything reminds me of what you have become.