This poem was submitted to Amerikaner.org by The White. If you would like to submit your own content to Amerikaner, please email amerikanercontributions@proton.me
The blackened sky sits heavy upon our men,
Armies smashed, hope lost, despair wins,
Death conquers the rest, only a matter of when,
But yet heroic struggle is death’s opposing twin.
For does the Lord not say do not despair?
It is thus that heroes are gloriously forged,
That a folk go from extinguishment to repair,
Trembling at our feet our enemy shall be purged!
To noble victory King Pelagius’s small band went,
To Cortes gave his sword, in blood an empire bathed.
March onward my comrades until your life is spent!
Conquer for thine folk and leave honor unscathed.
Remember Hajduks, Cossacks, Imperial troops,
For centuries they suffered under and they fought,
Against the cruel Turkish Sultan’s whores and dupes,
Many died without the freedom they later bought.
Among the tattered ruins of ’45 we now live,
Many an Asturias have we north, south, east, west,
To forefathers and descendants let us our lives give,
Let none be cursed to say he did not do his duty best.
Races disappeared before our steel step’s advance,
Over continents with but a few men we were master,
Nations obeyed and kneeled with nothing but a glance,
With daft folly we everyday lose more, each time faster.
White man! Why endure this pain and indignity?
White man! Why do you cringe before your slaves?
Thine fathers would endure no such malignity!
Your unprotected children cry from their graves.
Imagine the beauty of having again a clean home,
You owe it to thine ancestors to give to your children it,
Expel parasite and invader and conquer a new Rome,
Pass down to children victories to be grown bit by bit.
Death conquers not ’till when willpower ceases,
Eternal shame and death for those who surrender,
Thine folk resurrected a thousand-fold broken pieces!
After triumph the fireplace and a love most tender.
Beautiful!