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Leo Feb 10
I had a dream, yesterday, 3:33 in the morning.
The witches — they play with me — with my mind.
By the river that flows beneath the ash on an island in the sky.
They take me to a place that I have sought but can not find.
Where a river flows beneath the ash on an island in the sky.
They hang me from the tree, stick blades into my side. My blood — it fills the well until all the secrets rise.
Until all unknown I find by the river that flows beneath the ash on an island in the sky.
Woden song
I know that I hung on a windy tree,

cross

Nine long nights.

Hanukkah, Christmas, Saturnalia

Wounded with a spear, dedicated to Odin,

Longinus

Myself to myself...

Abandoned by God

On that tree of which no man knows

The Tree of Knowledge

from where it's roots run.

Laws by mankind

No bread did they give me nor drink from a horn,

Suffering, no mercy

I arose with the Word,

Ascension

and came back down to them.

Resurrection
This is an ancient Celtic poem. No author is cited.  It sounds like the, "son," of God(Odin) lamenting whom in Celtic fair should be the character known as Esus. He is depicted in stone as being a carpenter surrounded by animals. The spear of Longinus from, "Odin," represents the lineage of Kings and their judgement. Odin means, "Father," and God as all earthly Kings descended in spirit from God into their human forms.
Sun Drop Dec 2017
I am not a razor blade.
I am the sap in the twigs of the Yggdrasil,
the essence of creation.
I am a sensation,
felt by those troubled hearts that long for the *****.
I am a windowsill.
I am the iron will
of those who form our silent nation.
I am the soft parade.
But I am not a razor blade.

I am not the blood that taints the ground
where family members fell.
I am not the coal that fuels the fire.
I am not a sense of ire,
corrupting the minds of all around.
I am not the gates of hell.
I am not a victory bell,
whose ring announces raw desire.
I am not a snarling hound,
and I am not a razor blade.
Every tree has its time;
Every tree, with its every root, has its rings,
Treasures kept in the stories they tell,
History written on its paper leaves.

Kind branches reach around me,
Breathing my breath,
Kissing my lungs from within,
With food for fire;
Its greenery grows,
Seconds gathering layers,
Becoming minutes,
And months, and eons;
Twigs become branches,
Become trunks.

The tree is bending slowly over the ages,
To the will of the winds, so swift and passing;
The roots are weaving through the soil,
Searching for moisture beneath the earth,
Digging deep past the soft sand to the stone below,
Laying its blankets on the bedrock.

It makes no sound,
But breathes nonetheless;
Children climb its branches,
Overwhelmed by the mystery,
That something so big,
Came from something so small,
That something so deep could reach so tall;
With hands in the homes of the bird and the worm,
They are the stitches holding the earth and sky.
Akhil Bhadwal Dec 2015
Nine realms, stood still
Connected by the tree of life
Or as known to the mortals
By the name of Yggdrasil

In the kingdom of the thunderer
Deep beneath the shadows
Standing still at the heaven of the goddess
Gazed by the half-brother

Yggdrasil, or the tree of life
So be it
A mythological expression of life
That will hold on forever


|AB|
Based  on the mythological tree of life - Yggdrasil. Prose inspired from Norse mythology, Thor (Marvel Comics) and Breath Of Fire III.

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