~ Poetry by me ~
Hadding
A dear friend“s death in distant lands
offered the omen
to face my own;
words rise half-drowned from drowsy oblivion:
No hand but my own would bring my end.
No arm of woman lay
ever as lightly
around my neck
as now the noose
nor did my kinfolk
greet me as keenly
as high now the ravens“ call overhead.
The boughs above me bend in the breeze;
set are my sails
but not for the swan“s path.
A branch of ash
will be my oar,
parting soon
the wine-red sea.
The vessel is rushing, taut is the rope;
my life-boat held
by Hangatyr“s hands.
© 2005 Michaela Macha
Who“s
that guy Hadding ? Never heard of him !
Notes:
Metaphors: "swan“s path" - sea, "branch of ash" - spear,
"wine-red sea" - blood.
Half of the lines are written in proper Old Meter (Fornyršislag), the other
half just pretend to :).
- This poem is in the
Common Domain and may be freely distributed
provided it remains unchanged, including copyright notice and this
License -
Image: Detail from the Stora Hammars I Runestone, Laerbro/Gotland/Sweden.