StormborneLore

Tag: poetic exile

  • Taranis Stormborne: A Poem of Exile and Resilience

    Taranis Stormborne: A Poem of Exile and Resilience

    A Poem of Exile and Identity.

    A Poem by Taranis Stormborne

    I was the name they would not say,
    The thirteenth son they gave away.
    Born too late, with skies in veins,
    A storm that whispered through their shame.

    They blessed the first, they praised the strong,
    Each brother’s place in tribal song.
    But I a hush, a trembling glance,
    A question wrapped in circumstance.

    I healed the bird. They saw a curse.
    They watched me rise, then feared me worse.


    A child of feather, flame, and thread
    A boy who woke what should be dead.

    I bore no crown, but bore the cost.
    Of every death, of every loss.
    Too small for war, too young for blame,
    Yet still I walked through fire and name.

    Exiled not for deed, but fear.
    No grave was mine, no cradle near.
    Yet wolves have eyes where men have blind,
    And storms remember those they find.

    So let the bards forget my face.
    Let time erase the tribal place.
    For fire burns but does not beg
    And storms are born on broken legs.

    A colorful and intricate design featuring swirling patterns in shades of blue, green, orange, and purple with the text 'The Chronicles of Taranis' prominently displayed in the center.
    Cover of ‘The Chronicles of Taranis’ featuring intricate patterns and vibrant colors.

    Thank you for reading.© 2025 Emma Hewitt / StormborneLore. All rights reserved.Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this content is prohibited.

    If you enjoyed this story, like, share, or leave a comment. Your support keeps the storm alive and the chronicles continuing.

    If you would like to read more Taranis stories please see: The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded

  • Nature and Memory: A Reflection in Poetry

    Nature and Memory: A Reflection in Poetry

    A Poem by Taranis Stormborne

    Four painted stones displayed on a black surface, each featuring different colorful designs.
    Colorfully painted stones representing various landscapes, reflecting themes of nature and memory.


    They carved the stone while I still breathed,

    The blood not dried on mother’s brow.
    My name was spoken not with love,
    But like a curse the tribe would disavow.

    The fire crackled but not for me,
    No meat passed down by elder’s hand.
    I watched the smoke rise like a ghost
    Above a world I’d never understand.

    Their eyes were flint.

    Their backs like stone.
    My brothers looked, then looked away.
    I was not child. I was not kin.
    I was the price they chose to pay.

    I walked into the weeping trees,
    Each branch a wound I could not see.
    The ground did not resist my weight.
    The wilds at last remembered me.

    A boy of eight. A heart struck down.
    But storms remember where they’re born.


    The silence wrapped around my bones.
    And made me something more than scorn.

    They taught me I was less than breath,
    But wind and wolf still knew my name.
    The rain did not deny my steps.
    The storm would never speak of shame.


    Have you ever felt cast out not in body, but in soul?
    Share your thoughts. The fire still burns, and there’s room beside it.

    Thank you for walking this path through exile and memory with us.

    © written and created by ELHewitt