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~ By Courtesy of Others ~

 

Hel: Mistress of Niflheim

From the Giants Loki and Angrboda you were born,
Then taken away from Jotunheim you were torn.
Brought before Great Odin, but committed no crime,
Banished to cold Niflheim til the end of time.

Given authority by All-Father over worlds that are nine,
You watch over the dead where the sun does not shine.
Your household is immense, your gates stand so tall,
Dark, cold, and damp is Eludjir, your misty great hall.

You were commanded by Odin, what you have you must share,
With those who die of disease or old age, now in your care.
Deprivation and misfortune are for you a way of life,
Your plate is called hunger, famine the name of your knife.

When Balder came you covered the benches with gold,
In the pit lit a great fire to help keep out the cold.
Delicious mead was covered with a shining shield,
For Odin's son whose fate had been sealed.

Under hangings of glittering misfortune, dark and gloomy,
Hel sleeps in a sick bed that is both moldy and roomy.
You rise up every morning with very little hope for the day,
And care for those who cross over the river of death and stay.

Hel is the picture of death, and she is hated by some,
The insults that she receives have made her quite numb.
I respect your awesome duty, I honor the way you care,
For someday I will die, and to Niflheim I will fare.

Glenn Bergen, 2012
 

A Follower Of  The Old Ways
Find articles, thoughts, and inspired poetry by Glenn Bergen.
 

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