Every boy in Iceland wanted to be
like Gunnar, tall, strong, handsome, true,
in battle unbeaten. Violence was never the point—
no, it was service to the law of the land.
The resentment was predictable; it followed like darkness.
Creeping out of the woods, a schemer and company
tore his house down and pierced him through.
Gunnar was placed beneath a mound of earth.
That was a thousand years ago and, still,
his spirit recites verses into the night.
Across time and space, it cries for justice,
beyond mists of myth, for wounds unhealed.
It pictures a blue sky and golden field
in words that won’t be silenced.
Copyright © 2025 by Sam S. Dodd