Wodan's Man
One flying rage of far-reaching time and
multitude twisted skeins of doom-strands later,
I knew that I had been called.
By flowing breath, like fog streaming down the rock shelves,
I was made whole -- made hale -- made holy.
I cry my way, my wyrd, and walk just as the glint of a
raven's wing walks across the face of the long-watching wanderer,
towards
that empty eye, that sighted sacrifice that dropped
into the depth from the hand of the Mead-dealer,
and I sing.
© Erich Campbell
by permission from his Erich´s
Hall, Wodan´s
Shrine
Back to : [ by
Theme ] [
by
Author ] [
by
Title ]