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~ By Courtesy of Others ~
Warrior
You have crafted me, oh my God,
in steel and stone.
You have honed me through an exhaustion so complete
it erases thought.
You have imbued my heart with a sense of beauty,
and the fleeting consequence of life
so keenly painful that at times, it bites like a blade.
I sometimes think You have honed Your spear upon me, All-Father,
and my own mortality has become my muse. You taunt me with it.
You have made of me, Odin,
a savage animal, only contained by the fragility of flesh,
and the discipline of the blade. Barely.
I do not fit this flesh, this place, this time.
The echoes of memory,
the song of steel upon steel
distract me too much from the sweet banality of Midgard's song.
I never learned to live in this place.
Perhaps in recompense, You have tethered me to Your side...
wound to weapon, sheath to sword, hand to blade.
My weariness does not interest You.
You were more than weary on the Tree.
My strength does not interest You.
What is mortal strength to a God?
It is those things we whisper together
in the dark, twisting, anguished abyss of the soul
that stir Your heart to affection.
It is the fire that burns
beneath the stone facade
of the warrior's heart.
For You alone.
© Galina Krasskova, 2005