The Legend of Modan Teer

3 Mar


The Legend of Modan Teer

Many legends can be written with a pen and ink
But the legend of Lord Teer requires poet to rethink
The quill will not suffice, his lore demands red, heated steel
To etch and carve his conquerings and capture his great zeal

For normals and mere mortals, cold, black ink will do just fine
But the mythos of Lord Teer commands a much more stalwart shrine
And so this Warrior Poet hammers a worthy blade to scribe
The vanquishments of Teer to share with his descended tribe

A worthy blade it is, my kin, the kind that drove back Kings
A blade to mortalize a God or sever angel’s wings
Folded seven thousand times and hammered twice as much
The kind of blade that sends a chill down spine from slightest touch

It is with this grim blade that I recount the tale of Teer
Born from man with all his weakness, doubt, ego and fear
Born from parents taught the same, but ah! Modan was wise!
From early on, he knew quite well that mouths spoke mostly lies

And so he forged a mighty saber, same as carves this tale
An angled blade that cannot be wielded by weak or frail
A crooked claymore tearing skin, demanding heavy price
A scimitar that whispers, “I am a costly device”

He named the blade “Golgadar,” in his tongue: “Whirlwind” it meant
Clearly not from Heaven, great Golgadar was Hell-bent
And hammered, scorched and forged just as its wielder came to be
Lord Modan Teer was bent by Hell, but not broken, you see

Golgadar was a hurricane and captured discontent
The great Lord Teer eviscerated all the prey it sent
The hollow Kings of Fear and Queens Doubt were brought to knees
And no mercy was shown by Teer, to deaf ears fell their pleas

When fear was crushed and doubt destroyed, his peers could not let go
“Fear and doubt is in our hearts, it is all that we know!”
And so the people changed the name and face of doubt and fear
They said it wielded a whirlwind, its name: Lord Modan Teer

He died a gray, old King still feared because he possessed none
Some said he came to Earth by cutting a path through the sun
They cowered in his presence ‘till the day he closed his eyes
And took his final breath, then ran should Modan Teer arise

Centuries would pass before a young man showed the nerve
To storm into his tomb and grab the great sword with a curve
They called him mad to show no fear, he scoffed and entered “Hell”
And there, just as his Lord Teer had, was bent but never fell

Golgadar found a worthy wielder every hundred years
One who gladly paid the price of calluses and tears
No one writes of cowards who told Teer to run and hide
Too many countless stories of those who just lived and died

But for a life like Modan Teer’s, an opus must be hewn
Not written on thin paper, no! Engraved upon the moon!
Lord Modan Teer, a normal man who awoke from the sleep
And lived a mighty life in centre of the whirlwind’s reap


3 Responses to “The Legend of Modan Teer”

  1. pleisbilongtumi March 3, 2015 at 6:36 pm #

    Priceless! both the poem and the Kris. ❤ this. Thank you

    • Miro March 10, 2015 at 10:59 pm #

      Thank you for commenting, glad you enjoyed.

  2. Sue Dreamwalker March 14, 2015 at 11:35 am #

    Working backwards as I mostly do, I am loving your poetic tales, And morals held within them..
    Wishing you well and enjoy Spring Miro..
    Blessings Sue

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