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~ By Courtesy of Others ~


Holy smoke
Puts trolls to flight
We fly on wings of song.
Greybeard, One-Eye,
Sow-Goddess's star pupil,
Gazes into the Well of Wyrd.
Dare we join him?
--We fly on wings of song!
The High Seat beckons,
Now the bird flies--
Alone on wings of song.
The gate is passed,
It's market-day:
The Dead now whisper
Wisdom exchanged
For coins of life-force
So Gebo is upheld:
A gift for a gift.
So, who has a question?
The Dead never lie;
It is we who sometimes
Twist their words!
Don't like what you hear?
...Then take it up with THEM!
Hel's gate is closing now...
We fly on wings of song.
Drum-beat drives us
Fluttering forward
Back to our bodies,
Or gliding in like ravens,
Both still birds for all of that!
Grave-chill in my bones
Hunger's need-fire in my belly
Daydreams don't do that;
This is for real.
Hot food stills the echo
Of cold dark whispers
Near and yet far
Just beyond Beyond:
"Heed well
What you
Have heard
This night."

© Jordsvin

Jordsvin´s Norse Heathen Pages


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