Runeblot
Friya! Men salute the Goddess;
She, in turn, salutes the secret sun;
An unreciprocated correspondence
among kin from different hun.Ulf-father’s shadow oversees;
Watching in the silent dark;
Beware, for interruptions displease
the One who rules the parts.The Goddess, dressed in red,
proceeds afar to round the mound;
Tempting the uninitiated stead
who watch her descend the clouds.As each sneak peak through the gate,
which Freya’s friends have left ajar;
Whispers from the fog say: “you’re late”,
and “what is it that you want?”Revealed, the Goddess, bare and fair,
she fields questions from the crowd;
offerings of incense and salts, as
sacred words escape her mouth.Kindred from the far east
line the fire and circle like hawks;
in anticipation of the coming feast,
boisterous laughter and gawks.Good blot, they drink;
Sweetbreads soak it up;
Their knees knock in ecstasy
from the frenzy of the virgin cup.Wide square carved in dirt,
marks the center like a dot;
Death, in excess, must be purged;
the splendid sickness of the rot.Her headdress adorns the pit,
dressed with golden locks;
A reminder of whose bit
has been given to the lot.New bones, criss-crossed
line the bottom of the spot,
with oak tree limbs lost,
and other forget-me-nots.“I” blow a horn of ice,
its time for the feast to stop;
the web of wyrd needs form,
song, dance, and heat, red-hot!Jest, young friends;
Be pissed, drunk, and free;
Whip up your sentiments;
Toasts, boasts, oaths, and reliefs.Enjoy dance, young friends;
Be unafraid and merry;
Spin, clap, sing, and chant;
To the drum and staff beats.Push your partner to the edge;
as the order is accelerating;
All strength must be spent,
until only one is left standing.Zip-tie the last to the tree,
Crown them with a wreath;
Watch as they ride and writhe,
as God makes a new high priest.Share your ghosts at their feet;
Offer friendship and relief;
All that was will be left past,
free from this world’s disease.The new mage makes their way,
To fill the hole with fat and leaves;
In a state of constant repentance,
sharing in personal sufferings.Bidding farwell to the dead;
the fire is set burning quick;
Farewell, be gone, never again,
no more interference from the soul-sick.Equines await you in their land;
In seven jars we cry and grieve;
It seems mean to burn the land,
but all harm requires reciprocity.Mother Goddess hold our hands;
Hell is here, lead us to see;
Spirit work is no small task;
Open us up to bleed.Land-wight, summon the children;
They too can now take part in the feat;
An initiate must be made this instant;
To join us so that we may succeed.“I” tie the snake around their necks;
Witness their fear and trembling,
“Neophytes, dissolution is an empty threat;
for those who learn to love all things”.Down to earth, nose to ground,
The snakes slither on their bellies;
Bows, begs, and bequests,
to be kissed if deemed ready.Offer those chosen to undress,
Sky clad them free from sin;
New names, duly blessed,
and welcomed as our kin.
