To Sigyn

Truth
we have both loved
devils of old
drawn away by their mystery
and their seduction,
the Seduction of the Dangerous,
the Thrill, the Risk:
exhilaration in an all
too often staid world.

The anticipation, the rush
overwhelming in sweet agony,
to only fall away in pain
when Their nature comes to terms
with the laws of the World;
Fate is a cruel mistress
to Those who dance with Her
among the threads.
Crueler still to those
caught up in Their mad, heady
whirlwind.

I too know the pain
of Loss
of Love’s hurt and the weight
of Duty;
screams in my ears also
of children torn away,
threads cut before Their time.
Pain too great to bear
in a heart so raw,
yet we bear on.

I do not envy the days,
endless and monotonous
of emptying and emptying,
wiping the tears and the hate alike
from the face of your Beloved,
nor the cold comfort
of a son still living,
if such could be called Life.

Yet.
Yet.
To be with
through the haze
of smoke and tears
the Fire of your heart:
that I envy you.
The victory won
at high cost,
though none see the battle
raging inside.
And so, You have stayed,
and I have stayed behind.
What comfort is in safety
when love be bound
to the rocks?

Lady of the Staying Power,
teach me to pursue,
that those who wait
are often those who lose,
and that there is no greater maegen
than the Duty of love.
And mayhaps one day,
I too shall have a cave,
and a bowl,
and I will know
that Love is the reason
that I remain at His side.

(c) Nicanthiel Hræfnhild 2008

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