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Odin Hanging from Yggdrasil
All-Father, awesome, opens heart to
twinkling twilight, twirling heavens
in black bosom of body of Night.
Spins, spiralling, unspeaking Odinn
inviting virile visions of space.
Hanging holy through hoar-dew night:
hovering, holy, heavenly father
in limbs of Laerad, lovely ash.
Glyphs glisten in gloam of loft
as mysteries made in Mimir´s youth,
skyward, sailing, spinning about him;
reeling, reaches for theses runes of power.
Dreams, dramas, like drunken visions
burst through his brain in baleful cold
and wind whispers words in secret
to half-wary, hanging Herfather.
Foggy, foreign, confused and hazy,
Fiery, falling futures hover
wyrd and wondrous o´er Woden´s mind.
Abyss-bound, borne from chaos,
fire forms in the fog of time,
patterns pierce primordial haze;
then falling, falling, Father knows:
eureka-rising, runes in hand
and drinks dreamy drink of Mimir,
humming holy hymns all nine,
one each world for Woden learned.
Siegfried´s Blog: "Heathen Ranter"
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