~ By Courtesy of Others ~
The Voelva
I am the Hooded One
my mouth is not my mouth
birds whirl around my feet.
I read his pain
I read the skein
spread hand-to-hand
god to man
across the Void.
Sing me through the Gates
I will brush you in the dark
Snow from a night sky
You will not see me fly.
Suck my speech
bitter and fine.
Drink down the words of the Well:
your thirst will not be quenched.
I will pierce you
through the starred veil
through the skin
and you will rock
with the truth in your belly.
Chant you the stone lore,
Bleed.
Do battle over words
and the birth of words:
your thirst will not be quenched.
© Liadan
Image:
Woman´s Hooded Cloak, silk satin, c. 1780-1800, United States.