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.
Thank you for reading.© 2025 Emma Hewitt / StormborneLore. All rights reserved.Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this content is prohibited.
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If you would like to read more Taranis stories please see: The Prophecies and Tales of Taranis Unfolded
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