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Rune Song
He pressed them long ago against my lips,
mead-drenched runes tasting far more
of the tang of blood than the sweetness of honey.
He sealed His gift with a kiss...
and I never felt the bite of the spear that followed.
Runes devour-- He warned me once but I chose not to heed.
He lured me to His side with all the skill of a master huntsman
and it seemed better to be His prey than to heed His warning, gently given.
Those runes, though, were vicious things
shattering consciousness into a thousand, thousand glittering shards,
as numerous as the searing leaves of the eternal Tree....
and twice as deadly.
I have always had an attraction to sharp, shiny things, even those
torn from my own mind, razor bright.
It has been my undoing.
I have not yet recaptured all of those shattered pieces
for He has not yet withdrawn the spear;
and His love has become my gallows.
The Tree is the greatest of all altars and I ascended it willingly
as a woman might mount her lover...
Yet my writhings upon it have born more ecstasy than even I can bear.
You see, He does not share His plans with me.
He distracts by scent, by touch
by all the small things lovers do...
even His fury leaves me hungry, a willing participant
in the murder of me. And when those things fail there is always pain.
I have danced across bones to reach Him and scavenged among the dead.
Now there is only the law of the Tree and His hands dragging me down...
or lifting me up, I cannot tell...the scent of death is too strong.
One thing I know however, there is not enough pain in all the worlds
to pull me from that spear.
I would cling to it with bloody hands, screaming, until I reach Him again.
I wish there were another way but at least from here, with the rough bark
of the Tree cutting into my back, all roads are open to me.
And it seems they all lead to Valhalla.
© Galina Krasskova,
2005