The Warrior & The Valkyrie

Who was she that left so deep a mark
upon a warrior covered in scars?
Gather closer to the fire and
allow this
humble skald to
recount the tale.

There was once a warrior
deeply in love
with a woman of
self-professed,
unconventional beauty.
Her eyes were the captured,
cerulean waters
of the fjord.
Her laugh was
the life-breathing wind.
Her silken hair,
the ruddy brown of
freshly peeled
tree bark.

But be assured, such joy
does not last,
and a pest crept into the lovers’ hut
one night.
It passed over the warrior,
knowing that
a far worse fate
awaited him.
The next morning, her
life
was drained as that
malevolent cancer
struck
without warning.
An enemy that even
the mightiest warrior
can not defeat.

Shattered by
grief,
the warrior gave her a burial befitting
her splendor, and
threw himself
into battle with wild abandon.

He could find no consolation
from his comrades,
and on one of the
many
battlefields, he was felled by
another’s spear.
Looking down, he saw
his lifeblood
cascading
from the wound in
his chest.

All thought of pain
left him as
his gaze lifted
with relief and saw
Her;
His love
transformed with
cascading braids of gold
in the visage of
a Valkyrie.
He knew then that
he had been chosen for Valhalla,
where he would
gladly
be a thrall
in her service.

But the Norns had a cruel joke planned,
and rather than
cutting his life’s thread, they
severed
his connection to
the Valkyrie. Just
as she was about to speak
words of comfort,
his soul
plummeted
back to Midgard
into the ruined tissue of
his flesh.

And what did she leave?
Regret and the
backward translation of
lost language
never to be understood.

Finding himself no longer in bliss,
he shrieked a
black song
toward the heavens:
“I will drink of
Kvasir’s blood and
speak
my love back into being.
I will make
a mountain
of skulls to climb
and find you again.
I will carve
my name into
the histories of men;
challenge the
bravest, the strongest, and the hardiest
Until I find one who is
worthy enough to
return me to my beloved.
This, I swear.”

The warrior trekked across
craggy peaks and
dark ravines to find
the Mead of Suttungr;
but mere words were
not enough to conjure.
As an age passed and
drifts of snow began to patch his beard,
the warrior carried on;
hoping to
meet his match.

He continues
his search; a man
aged beyond his years.
But, if asked, this
lone warrior would tell
you not to weep for him;
he has
purpose and the
terminal knowledge of
his quest’s end.
And while his memory
remains true, he never
travels
alone.

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The Inkheart’s Prayer

I am enamored with the aspects
you choose to share. Such beauty transcends your
physical glory and
what you believe to be the
flaws of your mind.

Who am I to place the ideal of
my fascination
upon you?
Why should you carry this burden?

I see what you want the world to know, but seek
that which you would hide.
I know myself;
if I could only beg the same from this
Aphrodite who
mirrors your steps.

Haunts my dreams.

Your struggles,
your triumphs, your plans
and regrets
would be a nourishing nectar.

Would that I could do the same
for you. Be the same
for you. Prostrate myself

For You.

I am at a loss, yet cannot cease blabbering in the radiance
of your complexity; the glory
of your authenticity.

Be a balm for the lonely hearts; always.

Know that you brought this man to
slit his wrists and pour forth a

Prayer

in Ink.

An Impromptu Blog Post: My Favorite Poem

As a brief beginning to letting you all know me better, I thought I would make a short post to introduce you to my favorite poem. It is called You are Tired (I Think) by E. E. Cummings. This poem is a comfort to me in times of exhaustion and uncertainty, and I have periodically spent time memorizing it every couple of years; I hope it can give you some solace as well.

You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.

Come with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away—
(Only you and I, understand!)

You have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break, and—
Just tired.
So am I.

But I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—
Open to me!
For I will show you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect places of Sleep.

Ah, come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of the sea.

The Divine Comedy – Review

Divina Commedia (Divine Comedy) by Dante Alighieri

Written in 1320, first printed in 1472

Carlyle-Okey-Wicksteed Unabridged Translation

Pages: 625

Genre: Narrative poem, Italian literature

“In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself in a dark wood where the straight way was lost.”

Arguably one of the most influential pieces of long-form poetry in the Western world, The Divine Comedy by Dante Alighieri is an intimidating and enriching tome. After an introduction that gives historical context about the author and the poem itself, the reader is thrust back into the world of 14th century Italy. This allegorical poem is split into three sections: Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso; as Dante climbs through Hell up to Purgatory before his ascension to Heaven, he likewise travels from sin into reconciliation through purgation, and finally redemption in paradise. Continue reading “The Divine Comedy – Review”