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Mead-Fire
I drink the cup he offers
the horn-rim cold against my lips,
sweet honey taste in my mouth,
a single swallow spreads
down my throat
into my blood, my brain-
images burst behind my eyes,
words blossom fire bright in my mind
burn like ice into my memory,
Tumbling intensely through me
the swirling sensations barely
at the edge of what I can bear
as my fingers itch to find a pen,
for I know their will be no relief
until I free this vision from its fleshy prison,
release it into the world
like a child struggling to be born
only fully alive when it is separated.
And I know as well that despite the pain
I would drink again from that horn,
drink down the divine inspiration
in one swift swallow...
That moment is worth any madness
any cost I might be called to pay.
© M. C. Daimler
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