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Onora Feb 9
In the pit of snakes lay Ragnar
Son of Odhinn
The King of Kings
Father of Legends
Blue eyes look to the sky
Snakes bite into his flesh
Saxons Cheer
“Death to the Heathen!”
Hatred in their eyes
As the King smiles and dies
The war has just begun
Bryce Nov 2018
The air is wool
It is the shavings of innocence
It is the blood of atomic love
It is a momentary transience

I am a ticketeer
I own nothing but slips of paper
popcorn between the seats
rotting into kernels of knowledge to sleep with

She was and is the secret sucrose
a mysterious chemical, dreaming of becoming
Something that means more than just syrup
or unappetizing things

The earth was a open casket, nothing to hide
the soils and dreams of a ancient soul that had nothing to abide
She and I, lost amidst the widows
holding onto a dream of new life

Coupling together, we sought the stars
We stared through mirrors at ourselves in rings
Saturn and Mars
They the abodes of future eyes and ours

Not ready to see these things, chosen by god the in-between
Lost in the leaves and the lungs of her tree
I spoke to her, asking her what was
She replied rather callous that there was no love

Let's go on and shear the stars
let's take of their light and share with what's ours
Alight the funeral pyres and bait
God to give us the gifts He had never taken

Darling, I know I'm not the most beautiful thing
but I have gifts to share that don't hold in skin
they are never wrinkled, never tired, never lost of their youth
They are sweet simple liquor that will intoxicate with truth

Enough!


I am a tired Deseret dreaming of a new faith
I seek a maiden in which to build the estate
We can make the paradise of Eden on this plane
We can touch the golden calf and make it obey

Give to me your love and trust
I will give my ****** lust
My eternal heart, my corpse of dust
And push towards the solemn Eden of husks
Elder D Anthony Oct 2018
Sugar of the island;
crystalline.
Seclude thyself from
the fingers of the men of The World.
Birds of flight;
softened against the earth; hardened against the sky.
Avoid rest beneath
the head of the men of The World.
Fresh water of the brook;
serene.
Bubble, toil, and rush away from
The mouths of the men of The World.
Trees of the forest;
magnanimous.
Stand tenacious before the frailty of them;
fortify the earth as it is gouged by the men of The World.
Mountains that challenge the heavens;
stoic.
Hold thyself between them
the men, and The World.
Salt-water of the sea;
viscous.
Run thyself down the gullet
of the men of The World.
Cattle of the fields;
naive.
Hold thy tongue and stomach;
do not slave to the men of The World.
Fangs of the exiled hunters;
voracious.
Bare thy teeth against them;
consume the meat of the men of The World.
Children of men;
ambiguous.
Remain at play; thy memory will wither of
the men of The World.
Men of The World;
insolent; gluttonous.
Sit idle and fat;
thy follies shall decay beneath the history of The World.
When in the spring I began to walk, I encountered you, O Dellingr;
You, who was quiet, and tranquil, and who lifted the sun just above
          the lake
That sparkled with your light’s reflection. O Dellingr! I met you in
          the spring
And parted with you in the winter cold, and oh how I’ve missed
          you…!
I have longed to meet you again at the lakeside where I sat
And was soothed by the birdsong
And looked upon the shining waters
And became enraptured by the love I felt in my own heart
Before you gave Dagr his reins and sent him to his mother.
O gentle god, O light reborn, O third lover and day-maker,
Will you sit with me again?
Here at the lakeside,
Will you fill my lungs with “I love you”s
And caress my cheek with your most calming breeze?
O dayspring, O Dellingr, please enchant me here,
And over and over,
And when I fall from the sight of this world, let me fall upon a
          lakeside knoll
And sit with you again.
This poem is written to praise the Norse/Germanic god known as Dellingr.
mjad Apr 2018
the highest is where im headed
gotta go through hell to get to heaven
lights glaring feel so loud
popping pills like im proud
felt good a while then i fell
turns out i never even reached hell
My form obeys my wants,
My mind obeys my will.
Hear me now and listen, my steeling soul.
I see my destination;
A path, I design.
For this task, my own strength will suffice.
Within my chest, my lungs strain and struggle,
But they breathe the air in the highest, thinnest skies—they struggle,
          and I grow stronger.
This poem is written in "Galdralag" (lit. "the meter of magic spells), which harkens back to the cultural magic of the Ancient Germanic and Norse peoples. This is part of my poetry series called "Galdrbook."
Mike Virgl Jun 2017
What kind of fool am I?
One that shows no motion
Even though he thinks himself alone

What kind of fool is that?
A soul searching blind man
Who converts sight of facts to fiction

What does he perceive then?
He sees something in nothing
As a fanatical zealot would

What does he believe in?
Nothing, but he still looks
Remnants of God are still with him

Well then he is crazy, insane, a madman even
To search for something he knows isn't there

Yes,
He is only human
This was just on my mind and I needed to get it out
Elemenohp Nov 2016
The unworded truth lay twisted,
Where teething creatures stir.
Caught in the cobs of forgotten crevasse,
The doomed but dormant menace.

Thy beast shall be relieved of such burden,
Set free to light all darkness in flame
To extinguish all, til no brightness remains.

Putrid air from foul corpses, permeate the living.
Forsaking unfit, weak forces; creating a race of productive courses.
I believe in humanity.
I worship at the altar of peace.
I pray for salvation from within.

I have no faith in human gods;
Just the minds
That dreamt them up from nothing.

Yet I falter, and I doubt
And even if it’s just for tonight,
I admit my gods are as false as any other.

I am a heathen.
You can find more of my poetry at caitlincacciatore.wordpress.com
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