The Children Of Loki

The children of
Loki received
No pity

Is this in the same way, Father? I would
Like to believe
We became a
Certain epitome.

No wonder Fenrir ate the
Sun. I would have refused the
Hand of Tyre, Father, but
I am not the
Wolf. It is not for me, not
At this
Point-in-Time. The sword blades are
So much frost
And memory. Are we not
The same?

WASPS: we shared
Gods and now lie along the
Stone paved roadways. Miles markers
Of blame and
Like the
Children of Loki, we are
Handed stormy Worlds
And Prophesies even
Now. The danger in it…gentle Celts. Hellenes…
Ah, Father, would the
World weep at our coarseness? But. We
Shall weep enough
For the World.

Wodenistic divinity: how we comfort
Ourselves, Father, that the Gods we
Invented suited our Northern hearts and
Northern battles
When really…

Ah,
Father!

The children of
Loki received
No pity

And we stood on
The cusp of interchanging
Rough accomplishments, our
Northern Circle, warlike-pale
Journeymen. Proud in our
Angry frost and wood. Woden
Was our
Soldier but, ah, Father,
Were we from the beginning meant to be Fenrir?
Jorgmungand? Hel? After all- we choked off the Classical
World and brought our own specific Ragnarok as the
Rhine froze…

We. The fall of the World is…ah. Father?
Father?

Valhalla grows full
With our own fathers, and
The children of Loki
Received
No pity