Third submission to Hoenir Agon
by C. King
Brooding hostage, silent God
Muddy throne, Your hall of reeds-
Sway and twist like feathers falling
Mossy hued, those slender spears-
Chime and shudder from Your spirit.
Wordless, primal prayers sung
That ripple and tug the vault of heaven.
There amidst the marshy bank,
With Ymir’s blood smeared as mark-
The dappled Crane nests and watches
Before the countenance of Man becomes it.
You that roused urge and longing,
With rune-song sang up and awakened.
Wise He who saw the first and sees the last, what will be the after?
Gray Song, may the riverbanks ever be Your treasure.
Demure Council, may wisdom ever consider all avenues.
Knowing Maker-strengthen our people against those coarse to the Holy Powers.
Long Foot, ward us against the profane and arrogant. Where our clumsy feet trail Midgard-strengthen our resolve to be worthy of the Gods that shine brightly.
Clever God, of mist and wing-
That briny fog your cloak and down.
Whom appears at will to mortals few-
And whispers wisely second thoughts.
I thank You, Vanir Captive.
I praise You, Vili of Odr
May Your name ever live on the tongues of Ash and Embla’s progeny.