The Poem of Lindisfarne


hello once again I am Tyrkir your
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Twitter this poem is concerned with an island an
island off the coast of the northern part of the great kingdom of Northumbria
called Benicia and it’s also to do with the most famous events in the long
history of the island called Lindisfarne not far from Benicia strand, there lies
a lonely stretch of land, part of the Northumbrian realm, great nationship
Kings at the helm, on Lindisfarne as it is known, servants of Christ made it
their own, a monastery they did build, in learned
arts they were most skilled, where sainted Cuthbert was interred, his
followers lived by God’s Word, made books of beauty and sang hymns, welcoming
wayfaring pilgrims, it was in 793, that evil signs were plain to see,
enlightening tortured ether where whirlwind spindles twisted the air, and
six winged dragons put to fight,
a terrible ominous sight, fiery harbingers of dread, as starvation reared
its head, on York’s church roof a rain of blood, spattered down in a scarlet flood,
then like a bolt out of the blue, there came a war like heathen crew, alien
fiends had come to raid, foreigners with brilliant blades, none had thought this
could transpire, or guessed the fright it would inspire, panic pluck the
heartstrings while, pagans ravaged holy isle, Spears readied, axes brandished,
speaking in accents outlandish, pillaging in search of plunder, sacred relics
trampled under, the pirates feet altars cast down, with a callous sneering frown,
the hands that drew the painted page, fell prey to the wave riders rage, within
soaks and without just cause, some monks were stripped and thrown outdoors, others chained taken from their home, some were drowned in the briny foam, upon the beach there in the surf, at the edge of their turf, oh lord please liberate your folk,
from north men’s furious sword strokes, all in their way prepare to run, an age
of Vikings has begun, thank you hail to the speaker and hail to he who
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