On Freya's Folded Wings Will I Find Love
I have already fallen upon the four winds,
and thrown myself onto the air,
surfed the waves of roiled atmosphere,
rode round the rim of the globed toy of trickster
powers, where cackles at the thralled
gullibles tossed off nobility
to create their sin-parties ;
and I have seen the cynic multitude bow
before the altars of greed and deceit,
each professing their own worship before the eyes of many,
yet in sooth give up unto nether powers
seeded sordid so long ago
so that those bound and exiled
have indeed bodies beyond reckon.
And wisdom is indeed but consolation
for the noble in a world where oaths have no value.
I throw myself upon the winds, and witness
the cascades of simultaneous sacrilege,
the festivals of rupture and treason,
the ghosts of those not yet given up
yet hollow held by but a thread still hanging
moaning and abandoned in the ether,
and surrounded by powers foreign making plea,
promise for price of love and value thrown down.
I give nod towards the great gods of this age,
astounded, mock-begrudging admire,
their sheer plenitude and debased prevalence.
Yet mine air breath self-sent, wind-wisdom carried,
go out falcon-feather oared, wings smooth cutting air,
to love given up. Find woman loving woman, exult ;
Find male loving male, exult ; find true love in kiss
of man and woman, exultation ; for whereever love
finds homage in this abandoned-to-awful world,
my soul may find peace.
I see the severed spirits halved
of maidens and young men killed not
by crafted weapons, but black and awful overpower,
and soaring, wish-seek to guide them to the Sun's royal fields,
and flock to shining golden-cleansed follow
that blazing, innocent queen 'cross heavens,
restored to that which was stolen from them.
And my spirit soars to fly,
fleeing sole habitation in viking flight,
returning home only to alight, and speak
what sooth my soul hath seen,
in dreamy outgoings.
Around this rock rimmed by fog,
few follow ancient Gods of good ;
lost many, overawed by immense and monstrous,
bow to Giants, crushed in adulation.
And I see the circus but will call it no festival,
and I mind the madness, but weep at Baldur's fall.
Beyond on Freya's folded wings will I find love.