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Folly
Is it folly to seek the storm,
to crave the devastation of its touch?
Is it madness to hunger for burning which never ends,
searing deeply the darkest corners of my mind?
What madness could be as sweet?
I am besotted by You, Woden. It took no charms,
and little seduction. I fell easily to Your advance,
a conquered city welcoming its agressor.
Were it up to me, my love, I would relive again and again that fall.
Is it folly to love so deeply?
I do not know.
I only know that my greatest wish
is to rest in the shelter of Your arms,
my greatest desire to provide some measure of comfort
to You, my Wandering God.
I would be the warrior at Your side in the battles to come,
the vambrace on Your arms, the spear in Your hand,
the shield with which You meet the foe.
Arm Yourself with me, oh my God.
I would ride before You into the fray
and bear what weight I can of Your duty.
I dream of Your arms, my Beloved,
but I have ridden the storm long enough
to know that for such as we are, kisses are sweetest
when shared before the field of battle.
Perhaps I should wish for more,
but I am as You would have me made;
and if that is of use to You, then it is enough.
© Galina
Krasskova, 2005