Magnus

[blackbanner]

Not many men can be called a rock,
But Magnus was one…

His rough skin and giant brow,
A castle, a beacon.
He stands taller than God, above all men
Anchored into the Earth by sheer will.

His mossy face, weathered with age,
Holds vigor and valiance,
As if the worlds troubles would melt
At a casual glance of his stony eyes.

Never faltering, he is erect, home
To many, graveyard for few.
He rolls down this hill thunderously,
Crushing those who oppose him,
While his beloved rest in his gravelly hands.

If a house is desired, he is the foundation.
If a friend is needed, he appears, his earthen skin warm with love.
If a mountain is to be climbed, he will scale it to the top,
Holding your hands as far as you go,
And carrying your weight upon his rocky shoulders,
When you are weary and need to rest,
Until the mountain is but speck behind you.

And if the world had had enough,
And the mountains had grown jealous.
He would take his place
Back among the gods of old.
Fallen to the earth, he will not mend.
From whence he came, so shall he remain
Interred as a man, remembered as a legend.