Studies in Sobriety Poetics Donate.
         
     

The Throne of Heirs

 

 

 

 

It is as such with all seeds, as currency to a letter,
   if one or a million they came from the same root
  but as they withered did the log become hollow,
and the wind swept through it and rain fell as tears
   to fill it, as a pond became inside - after lightning
  had struck the blackened leaves off the dying tree.

into ashes turned, scattered throughout the world
   as specles into ears, eyes, nostrils, mouth flew
  But as seeds became - in humans started to grow
a spirit and a soul from the dying, dying tree,
   in waters below was remnant roots dissolved,
  as they drank from it - lightning in eyes lit.

And in a nearby river a fish jumped into the tree,
   as waves became on the surface as the storms
  raged it was quiet - it noticed not but to nip, nip
of the wrinkled insides of the dying, dying tree,
   until it had made a hole - and water levels sank
  and the continents below the ocean appeared.

Ye, this is a song of Yggdrasil, this was woven
   knotted, knitted, carved, struck, scratched
  that humans may live - from the dying tree,
was space and consciousness made be ;
   as a fish which nipped, glared out the hole
  as a flood it became to shift the planes.

The treelog cracked, fell into the river nearby
   as weights scales and measures changed,
  on the riverbanks it ended, the fish inside
into the streams it belongs returned ;
   The dying tree laid bare - until it was found
  by Heirs - into a throne wilt to make.

And into it was the breath of renewal blown
   and from the barch it sprouted anew,
   as it grew, they grew with it - Heavens made,
a rod and a scepter from its branches
   a crown from its flowers was set upon Sheirs
  as names were given - language made.

Into the tree regrown a bird settled nest
   learned to sing and wind carried
  its voice to humans and into them blew
chants and sounds from ages hence
   that they may always carry in them too
  the dying, the dying of the trees.

This story is at an end - but know there
   is so much more of it inside you
  than I could ever tell - only remind thee,
as the wyrds into words writs,
   to only have a glance of past as future
  all that is dead may also regrow.


       
 
         
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