I once met a viking girl,
who hailed from Norway.
I usually wouldn't have bothered,
but there was something special about her
I couldn't fully grasp.
It was like some weight had been lifted
to relieve my tired body
of it's former failings.
There was a magic she could wield,
some massive dreadnought of power
she kept sheathed in ornate leather.
Sometimes, when she was nervous,
her fingers would brush it's scabbard,
tracing the embossed symbols,
unaware of what she was doing.
And then this longing would overtake her,
leaving her eyes vacant,
momentarily...
As if her vessel had been abandoned
as she expanded
well beyond it's threshold.
During these brief moments
when she'd slip away,
I saw things I couldn't explain.
A furnace of starlight,
encased deep in the Norwegian ice,
alongside the warships of her ancestors.
Usually well-guarded,
out of habit
or necessity.
Before I was consumed entirely
she returned from her reverie,
tearing me away
from that solace.
I wonder now
if she was aware
of what happened.
Those secret woodlands
will haunt me
long after I've gone.
Long after life has left me,
and into the outstretched arms of eternity
and the worlds that follow.
And like some dream,
it still escapes me..
how so much beauty
can be reserved
and contained.
It sickens me to know
that what I'll remember most
was the physical form she'd taken,
and not the things
that truly mattered.
Not the magic she used
to tear me asunder,
wide open and spilling..
helpless in it's radiance.
Not the gentle breeze
that expanded from her wake
as she passed me.
Because it's easier
to be shallow.
It's easier
to forget.
Hello everyone!
This is my first time sharing my poetry with anyone, let alone an online forum. I'm happy to be here finally, and hope to learn as much as I can from this experience. I've read the forum rules and know what's expected of me.
This poem was something I wrote in a 20 minute span this morning driving to work. I dictated it to my phone as I was making my morning commute. I'm often inspired by strange things, and this poem is no exception. The title may seem odd (and it is) but the names Höðr and Lofn have significant meaning to this piece.
In Norse Mythology -
Höðr - God of winter.
Lofn - Goddess of forbidden loves.
The spawn of these two Gods (in this case) is their daughter, which remains unnamed.
As a sidenote, I know NOTHING about different formats and styles of poetry. I know my work is all over the place, and I really enjoy writing it the way I do.
That doesn't mean that I'm NOT doing it wrong. I know I can be doing this better, and I'm currently striving for that opportunity.
