Herald of the sacred keep
Thunder in his gilded hand
Stirring all the souls who weep
Into realms of floating sand

Viking cats live
in such magnificent ways,
and he was no different-
Valhalla awaits him.

Helheim isn't a place
its fires only burn inside one's head
a dark and roaring space
a tomb for the dead

Dead cogitations
pitiful victims
of a mind's limitations
and shallow benedictums

There I dwell
dark imagination
an endless pit, a bottomless well
darker still the manifestation

Thoughts shrouded in mist
Hela is waiting
by the great shadow I am kissed
and all is fading

I get lost, I don't protest
deep inside this maze
by this darkness I will be blessed
and find comfort in this haze

Like a hammer that’s too short.
Like a wall that feels lacking.
Like a land of giants, vanished.
Like a god among gods who aren’t your own.
Perfect in an imperfect world or

imperfect in a perfect world;
your imperfection shown.

Yggdrasil overgrown and all the options leave you empty.
At first nine worlds seem plenty
but soon you hope for twenty,
finding no treasures tempting.
Your desires in the waters 

of three holy wells reflecting
a thing that seems calm and collected:
an ending to the ending;
soft but not,

like a pillow made of rock,
you rest your head upon
the thought of Ragnarök.

When the Earth made you, she flecked your skin with seeds,
Tossing handfuls of black soil all across your shoulders
And sowing in your body the strength to thrive.
Your hair grew like man’s first fire,
Red and thrashing like a fish in the sea,
The sea where, now and then, your mother feeds you the flesh
Of the scorched men whose ships fear your fanned red skies
And find their burial mounds in the deepest sands
          under the flash of your light;
Men who feel your firm black soil again at the doors of your hall
And make themselves full with food and drink
And Hellos to friends so long and fervently missed.

Tis with a smile and high regards
I tell the tale of Thor son of Asgard
With a strong and a firm physique
But not much wit of to speak
Bore his mighty hammer Mjolnir
Almost on par with his father spear
The dangerous lance known as Gungnir
Thor smote monsters from far and near
Frost giants and the serpent Jormungadr
With hammer in hand he stomped and smash
Bone and flesh broke like brittle glass
Each battle was greater than the last
Etched in mythology for all who would ask
Now who beyond that could compare to
The mighty feats that Thor would do
Without the power of thunder and lightening
Another hero fell beasts just as frightening
Built like Thor with a similar mind
To crush and **** the beast of his time
Just like Thor he bore the curse
Of a strangely epic kind of birth
With so much to live up to
What was a demigod to do
For all his might he was tragic figure
Accidentally poisoned by his own lover Deianira
Shortly after completing his twelve deadly  labors
Labors done in the name of sweet repentance
For the ****** of family he sought penitence
Still that is a tale that many know far too well
Thus I leave you this in comparison
Though I think they would have been good friends
Warriors till the brutal and ****** end
I wonder in a fight who would win

It crashed to the ground,
So hard it shook the planet,
It was heard around the world,
Cracked the earth and all its granite,
Which made a louder sound,
And The Jörmungandr curled.

We come as warriors, we come as raiders, and as slavers. We take what we want, we are Vikings. We raid and we pillage, for our gods, and for our sons. Feel our wrath in battle for we have no fear. For when we fall we join our brothers in Odin's hall.

The Tree Nymph chants with grace,
Mesmerizing  men by plenty, soon lost, displaced,
Her voice, charming songs of paradises and victories true;
Sounds like colors, various, like a thousand rainbows hues,
But deceptive songs heard only men whose hearts are empty,
And whose souls are petty, despite they toiled plenty.

For these men who seek women and The Nymph also seeks them:
Evil men full of blackness, foul and dread,
Who foolishly travel to the source of the enchantment,
Only to find themselves slain by this female *******.

No heart broken if nonexistant,
Persistent ignorance formed by constant negligence
Yet before dying comes a sweet caress
For slain are these foolish men, Nature is blessed!

From Her body only one guarantee,
Without sympathy, from the enemy
From her blood pure: Holy Vessels,
But only after a pain; unbearable

Her Body sometimes Tree, Her blood always a Holy Sap
Her wisdom an elixir which none can grasp,
She is wet and her branches grow children who will soon run with the wind
Not from the rain, but from the ***** of men who have heard her sing.

Forever shrouded, mysteriously clouded intent
Dreaming of men who wept, with whom they slept, only to met their death
However it is noted, The Tree Nymph sings true and pure,
For men who are evil, the only cure

A purge for those who sing as they hurt and curse
At Women: The Ocean of eternal birth.