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Twighlight

At last the Day came
that foretold from the Beginning
The Twilight of the Gods upon us at last.

I knew it to be so,
by whispers in my ear of spirit ravens
by wisdom gained at the cost of a blue eye
in Mimir's Well.
The Day the Norns had promised:
Ragnarok.

Heimdall Eagle-eye let sound
the Gjallerhorn, and I knew
for sure.
On the Plains of Ida, We gathered.
Aesir and Vanir arrayed for war.
With my good eye, I gazed upon them
from my high seat Gladskjialf.
My proud people preparing to die.

Was it all come to this?
For this did I hang upon
Yggdrasil for nine nights?
In the end, all my wisdom
has averted not my doom.
Fenris awaits.

My people call for me.
Invoking my Names as a charm
against the coming Dark.
They pray to me for luck in battle--
but to whom might the Allfather pray?
With heavy heart and fingers numb
I go down to join my people.
I do not show them my fear.

Thor, my son is there
beard fiercely bristling
Mjolnir in hand. Frey,
laughing Faery Lord, armed only with
the antlers of a stag.
I know they will all die, and I with them.
What a fate for We who are the Lords of the Seven Worlds!

Sharp eyed Heimdall points to Bridge Bifrost
and we see the enemy approach.
Thrym and his Frost Giants sail to war on ships
crafted from dead mens nails.
Surter of the Flames, rose up from Muspelhein
with the Deamons of Fire.
Loki, bonds burst and howling for vengence,
with all the Dead of dark Niflheim moaning for the
hot blood of Gods.
Our Doom is at hand.

Up from the sea,
Loki's second son, Jormangundr, the World Serpent
Rears its grisly head
Rising high enough to darken the skies.
It's elder Brother, the Wolf Fenrir
Shatters its Dwarrow-forged chains
and howls its bottomless hatred.

In the sky, Jotuns in the shape of black wolves
Chase down and devour Moon and Sun--
Nightfall is upon us. The Fimbulvintr comes.
The Abyss waits gaping at my feet,
and all about the Maelstrom rages.

It is said that one must either weather a storm
Or be swept away. My wisdom,
Wisdom born of Mimir's Well and
Nine nights on the World Ash,
Tells me a third choice:
Ride the gale, and seek Glory in Destruction.

Lifting my head high,
I catch the scent of War.
Fear flies from My heart
As I remember Who I am--
Odin Allfather, Grimnir,
Rune-Lord and Gallows-God.
I scream My battle-cry
as I lead my Host to war
My Ravens about My head
My Wolves racing at My side
Mighty Sleipnr's eight hooves
Crack the ground like thunder.

The Hordes of Einherar out of Valhalla
surging behind
Singing their death-songs for the second time.
Our enemies scatter like leaves in a gale
Before our fury.
A clear, pure joy rises in my heart
as I wield Fell Gungnir to slay the foe--
All about Me and in My wake,
Hel claims her due.

I see Bright Frey fall 'neath Surtr's fiery blade.
Thor smashes Jormangundr's skull, walks nine steps
And falls, stone dead.
In a foaming frenzy, Heimdall and Loki
Slay one another, bitter foemen to the end.

Finally, Fenris rises before Me,
His monstrous jaws agape.
My destiny awaits--
I set my spear
Spur my mount,
And like a comet
Plunge forward to meet My fate.

 

 

6 Handshakes

In 1987 astronomers observed

The birth of a galaxy...

a billion suns ignited

within an incandescent cloud

Seventy one billion trillion miles away.

The other day I figured out

I was six handshakes away from Evil.

I shook hands with my great uncle

in the sixty-eight campaign

he shook hands with Nixon,

Who'd shaken hands with Eisenhower,

Who'd shaken hands with Roosevelt,

Who'd shaken hands with Stalin,

Who'd shaken hands with Hitler.

 

So there you have it,

In a universe where distances are enormous

and human intelligence exists

as a kind of whimsical afterthought,

Evil is as immanent

And as intimate

as a touch.

 

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