Viking ground. The belly of
Norway. Music like thunder
Keeping whole villages awake.

Swords, spikes, norse jewelry
And black, black metal
Of the kind that honours

Those who were here before
These hundreds of metal heads
And contemporary heathens.

She works in the beer tent,
Throwing long gazes my way,
That I return.

She took
Me
Here.

Stars above a stage lit with a
Thousand shades of neon that
Emphasize the

Ground locked mist; breath
Of Odin and His believers.
I love this music; this brutal

Noice within system. I love these
People. They seem scary from
Afar, but share a brothership

Within their worship.
Enslaved is one of the most
Famous bands within the

Genre. The guys still join the
Roadies, clearing the stage
From their gear.

criss cross crossing
hello havn't seen you here before
I would love another drink
hey don't, I do not know how to dance
Can you dig that drummer.
Hey I thought we were lovers.
Would you like to go outside.
Hell my overprotective brother just walked in.
**** I just ran out of friends.
Got a light.
Man I can hear you from here.
****. the taxi has arrived.

Pen scratched dry
Pages painted blank
Inking silenced this night

When I visit a place
Which many have visited before
Leaving their footsteps
Venturing on my own
Free spirited and I walk freely
Nonchalant about the previous visitors
Leaving my own footsteps
Along the unknown alleys
Which were still hidden from many
I look around with new perspective
Not how history describes it
Memoirs were written
Forgotten in the annals of libraries
I chronicle my own experiences
My heart unravels a new myth
Which is completely my own

first you conquer the want
needs must appear
after much discernment
you just might get it right
Writing poetry, a thankless art
but thanks was never a goal
only sating, a ravenous muse
forever hungry, forever on the move

I cut myself on the shards
Of the hourglass
I broke open to
Count the grains of
Time spent on equally
Meaning-
Less
Activities.

In the garden of poetry
Blossoms many flowers
Seeds planted with care
Holds varied experiences
Flowing ink helps germinate
Each seed to raise their head
To see the light of day
For us to tread among them
Experiencing their beauty
At the valley where poets reside
There is never a dull moment
Weaving night and day
In an intricate design with words
A garden of dreams
Surviving through the ages
A safe haven for all poets to gather
Where echoes words from the soul
Words flow through the garden
Nurturing the seeds of imagination
Which will bloom again and again

I hunger for the perfect word
to finish my line, to consume
many words to make the
sentence I desire.
  
I wish to eat through the
letters one by one, to rearrange
them till they fulfill my need, a
sentence must be made the
perfect one.
  
I must quench this hunger,
for I must be fulfilled. This
poem with words, the lines
perfectly posed to make it
a uniquely written poem.