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~ Poetry by me ~

 

The Binding Ones
(& Epilogue by Nick Ford, at bottom of page)

Odin:
Ill you kept your oath, blood-brother,
slaying Balder, my son!
Watch as I make a wolf of your own son,
tearing his brother to bits!

Loki:
Ill you kept your oath, blood-brother,
cruel foe to my family!
You exiled or killed nigh all of my children—
A wolf will revenge me on you!

Tyr:
Fenrir lies chained, as I fetter you now
with the bloody guts of your get.
Better such brood is bound in time
before it brings harm to humans.

Loki:
No hand you own for oathing or fighting:
Who would trust you, betrayer?
The wolf is strong, for he stands in a pack:
To Garm you will leave your life!

Thor:
I string these bonds to stones beneath you,
under neck, back, and knees.
Hlodyn will hold you heavily now;
Slow is time´s passage in pain.

Loki:
The Serpent´s coils will cling to you
before you fall to her poison!
How I regret regaining you Mjolnir,
which will kill my own kin.

Skadhi:
My father you felled, and the fairest of Gods,
and dared to brag of your deeds!
This snake shall spew its spit on you
and keep you eternal company.

Loki:
Better I liked your laugh, etin-maid,
when I was just bound by the balls.
Nor breathing nor dead has Balder been yours:
Go search the sea for his ashes!

Now leave, you traitors! Live in fear
until the day of your doom—
Your bane will I be, Binding Ones,
when I break the bonds of the world!

© 2007 Michaela Macha


License: This poem may be freely distributed, provided it remains
unchanged, including the copyright notice and this License:

This work by Michaela Macha (www.odins-gift.com) is licensed
under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives License.


P.S. "Binding Ones" is an allusion to the word "bönd" of the same meaning,
which was used for the Gods (like "regin", "megin" etc.)

Epilogue

Freyja (to herself):

"Of all trees alone, no oath was asked
Of the mistletoe bough, to mean no hurt to Baldur;
Blind Hodr held, and hurled, the branch:
Wood and wielder, both I hold blameless.

Now is my bright boy house-bound to Hel,
Gone down with Yule-sun, to rise yet in season.
Til Ragnarok's raging is over, my own,
Well shall win through the strife of the World-Storm.

Shall I rail with the rest, shaming its shaper?
Shall I gloat with glee, and carp at a captive?
Brave work indeed! Let each do what he does best:
Witting, or unwitting, each part in the plan."

© Nick Ford

Poetic form: Ljóðaháttr (Song Meter)