Beowulf, whom I loved

One of the most noble amongst my flock is no more for the world. That scornful fire-beast, that dragon enemy of the Geats has claimed him in his defeat. All of the power of heaven to console his subjects whom he had served so nobly!

Noble in service as well was he to me. Before this foul dragon, he had struggled with Grendel, that horrific spawn of Cain, and vanquished him and his evil mother to judgment. The foes of heaven are numerous, but far less so given the fruits of Beowulf’s treacherous and courageous work.

But standing higher than any record of battle, more noble than any wartime decoration, was that noble king’s service to his people. Though fatally wounded and not long for this world, he looked upon the treasures he knew he would never own and thought it a blessing to be able to bring them to his people, whom he had loved so dearly.

The glory of heaven is the highest, but it has gained in love, nobility, and courage with the passing of beloved Beowulf. His exemplary service to his comrades and countrymen, as well as to both his kingdom and the kingdom of Heaven, will not be forgotten. His faithful duty to God and man will stand as a benchmark for acts in the service of good for all of eternity.


2 thoughts on “Beowulf, whom I loved

  1. For if your tongue wouldn’t make a fine buttress, I’d have your head as marking notch on my bed-post. You know not of sorrow. You know not of toil! Help me, by God’s sinew and bones; allow me to make use of your time, in something other than your blank stares of cliffs and whale-roads. Have—I know the resolve to this but I am propelled to vow in this my own suspicions. Have you ever—nay force or fate is strong enough a word—been fingered by the hand of the Righteous Creator in stray down Devil’s road? The only break in the path is damnation, exile or a fustibal into the back of your own father? How you lament of death! That shall not come about, and treacherously betray the lord of despair. Perhaps you sought despair as orphan to usurp, or refuge to reside—however me, by my own forged path by God’s sweet breath, have been bred in it. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t. Better to know a devil, to give your grief meaning. Better…to have answers, reasons, a, platform atop the worm-hoard you have, to seek retribution sprinkled from the hand of the almighty himself. I have no such luxury, I have no such reasoning from The Glorious King. A King who demands vows, but is all mouth and no trousers—and if those be my last words before smite, I pray thee carve them in stone and teach from the altar.

  2. I thought my sorrow you too would understand. Evil you call me, but that pain you feel. Spawn of spawn gone, and that Beowulf you lament for. He is the cause for my loss, yet his deeds be celebrated. With his death my vengeance met and pity he receives. You too a mother, lamenting for your child, but my wish for revenge, evil.

    When I heard of you Mother Jesus I thought even if I a creature of human’s contempt the pain of losing a son you would know. Pity and understanding though I receive none. Monster you see me, but it matters not. For humans, Beowulf no longer, so my revenge realized. Sympathy I need none. Maybe not in heaven, we rest now too and rage no more.

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