A storm for Neraeos, divine patron of the Runewardens

By: Torgak Posted on: May 30, 2005

Dark grows the sky, a furious storm
impends over the Sea,
your passion rages, Neraeos,
upon the Wat'ry lea.

By brooding upon Vundamere,
a placid lake at sight,
Caspian's son of slothfulness
yet wrongly taunt you might;

because He's an eternal flux
like any Mortal's breath,
as Life dear Water's nursling is,
while stillness means just Death.

Staring astonished at the flood
of Pachacacha River,
before the display of Your wrath
Achaeans can only shiver.

The howling winds are must'ring clouds
and as the billow breaks
a strong roar rises from the Waves
and Ocean's vast plain shakes.

The foam does splash here on the shore,
my senses overwhelmed.
But through the storm pious ships still may
by devout hands be helmed.

Away the tempest ebbs at once,
and settles for a while;
the ships set sail, and feeling safe
the mariners can smile.