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Untitled II
Ah, my Lord, the fear You bring is a gift.
It allows me to see all those places inside my heart
that I have closed to You.
I would drink deeply from that cup, sweetest elixer,
more precious than Odhrorir.
I would embrace the terror that is Yours alone to give.
It is a joy to me.
Woden,
You have come to me like a knife in the darkness.
You have stripped me bare of every pretense
and rendered me helpless before You.
Now I can only wait,
to be swallowed up in You.
I can only wait
and plead again for the bite of the knife.
Oh, its pain is sweet.
If my flesh be the thing that separates us,
then wield the knife swiftly, oh my Liege.
Leave me naked in the darkness of that terror,
bleeding, frightened and alone…
so that I might hunger for You all the more.
Then I shall clothe myself in You, my Lord.
What garment could bring more pleasure,
than the swift cloak of Your arms?
What robe could be so becoming
to one who loves You so well?
I shall surround myself with You
until there is no place, however small within me
where You are not.
Then I shall hang on the Tree
joyously,
secure in You.
And pain will prove no obstacle to my sincerity.
This is my promise, my Lord. This is my vow.
So make Your knife sharp, oh my God,
that its cut might be clean.
© Galina Krasskova