Tumultuous is life, It's the wind ruffling the branches By which we are free In autumn reminded By this untimely fact I ultimately am driven Past the stirring of anxious worries heaven, and hell, They are past and future A line by which an anxious mind is drawn Evermore beneath the sun, baking in the light of foresight And the drive to be forthright And wordless, though the child twas a poet hence. This is the quest for calmness amongst calaminity, And thus, my friend, blood brother by which our shared embers burn, I see through common sense, and I say, it is is when this fire cools that we are nothing. Fear is what brings war upon good kindred and eviscerates the bowels of what we once called kinship, leaving us spared of heaven and in a grave of our own mind. That is why I choose Valhalla, indeed. No sword is needed, rather I will go to Valhalla by the light of my mind and the stroke of my pen, and foremost, we will go to Valhalla by this cool breeze and the song of the leaves through the trees which got me there.