Courtesy of Others ~
It is the silence first who is aware of the waking,
one thousand years they have slept,
safe in Valhalla's chambers,
comforted in the warm embrace of snow's cover
Each stretch is bellowed to the valley below
like cats rising from a warm nap they reach,
extremities tingle as strong hearts regain tempo,
clear eyes snap open...
Odin's thunderous step echoes in majestic halls
as he seeks his companions from their rest he does call,
from room beyond he hears Thor's hammer tested upon granite
in distant land a machine records the tremor.
Rejoined again they stand upon balcony firm
arctic winds tear at their leathered faces
cold eyes stare at the world beyond
a world that has changed
In vast cities of concrete and stone
swarms of people scurry about
yet each is alone in the crowds,
they know not the scent of their brother.
It is Thor who points to the sluggish men
as they sit in their little tin boxes
with the effort of a babe they speed faster
in this game of children that they play
He is bewildered at homes they enter with pride
built not with their hands and sweat,
but the hands of strangers they will never know,
indebted till death to the money changers
It is the women whom Odin does watch,
trying to be equal to the foolishment of men
castrating lovers like tramps in the taverns
then wondering why they sleep in cold beds.
He marvels at the lies, spoken freely as fast
before the alters of their Gods
and laughs at the confusion
when all falls apart.
With words not spoken both Odin and Thor
return to their chambers in a time long before,
for they know in their hearts born of wisdom and time
that this too will soon crumble, and men will be men.
© David Hoyt Johnson
From his Celtic
Poetry Collection at Shadowpoetry.com
Image: Free Tripod clipart.
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