By. Ryan Sonneville

The sun would rise and sluggishly set
Underneath, families entered the altar in restless sweat
Well in hand, returned flowers from ancient dead
Their repeated texts, cries, prayers wed

They repeated in antediluvian hoods:
Do Not Enter Morin Woods


My son cut his combatant’s blade
On the backs of timber and armored plates
In the pursuit of honor, he avoided text
Waylaid warring armies, discarded violent sects

The horizon promised foreign goods,
Yet he kept away from Morin Woods

Ships and horses brought him here
To this frozen shore laced in fear
Twisted wood, marked – left lifeless near
The ice seized ship, its captain dead, fewer less adhere

His withered face told of the years
Cutting to flesh, holding back tears
He vanquished elder oaths, went where he pleased
For distant realms and treasure yet to seize

Repeated words from his infancy stood:
He knew to keep from Morin Woods

Many years had passed, as did his wealth
The knight looked to fortune while eluding health
Siren songs would wake his slumber
Calling him, sword in hand, to look for another

The sails were frayed, the hull creased and tattered
There was no hope to leave this frozen island
Rock, dirt and decay were his flock
From this he could raise no kin, no means, no stock

Yet on the distance sat, dark trees to beckon few
Unless their mind fooled by their aim most true
He could take what others could not
Into the darkness, trembling for what all men sought

For these worldly goods,
He would enter Morin Woods

With torch lit and sword in hand
He walked assuredly into this remote land
To claim what none have yet, he turned again
One day, they would sing of who he had been

With not a word, the man did not return
No comment of where is body or soul did churn
Lost to time in an unspeakable realm
Left with no son to carry his battered helm

The natives sat, in ornate hoods,
They knew not to enter Morin Woods

Ryan Sonneville is a teacher and writer.

Manet is a band from Norway.