Firmly risted in hidden recess until Ragnarok.
Fetching yet another unlovable stretch to love:
Branches in wait here, all too dead calm
before, as foretold is; We can gather to the mould
as love’s owned and dying breed: Caught,
while sea mist rises inside the birchleafrains
The leaves down in the slush dampen hard steps.
The lacking; root to crown, severely drains this world.
But, wilted flowers recall that they won against darkness!
WE ARE HERE! CAN NOT LOVE OR BE LOVED ENOUGH!
Welcome, to our rich camp’s unity
there Sun will hand us his friendliest reverence
from forestkissed skies freed from uncertainty
inside of dusk and dawn, dear Light of excellence!
VALUABLE LIFE FINDS THE HIGHEST FUTURE,
SO HASTEN ― STRENGTHEN NEW DAYS ON THE PATH!
RIGHTS TO CLARITY ARE THE WORLDS’ SOLVED ANSWER:
THE GODS WILL REMAIN!
We know, know how a shattered thought bit us:
That to life dragged will here be thrashed.
(Now owning the last torn down lifeline.)
Weakening down, defying that weakness is death.
These are tangled years
where the wishing doesn’t reach down to matter;
wrecked frozen unripe buds
where needs don’t manage to reach up to any will
from the fallow; the growth lands,
there lust rarely tricks itself grown above loathing.
(In front of hurtfilled opened eyes to realities
burns a cold indifference down inside; through us:
Dumbness of Worlds in all its swathing wholeness.)
Viet, the new time, taking year after year,
where blow upon blow sets the boundaries of the helpless
and harshly hits any survival with swath after swath
(This world where thinking has stayed in death
and the rotten parts of wholeness are to be cured;
leaving a new unity worthy of our lives.)
Righting here this world’s flat and foul opinions.
Life, awaken to be sharply lived with the Rights
teach that all rot inside came from outer affront
and finding no value in murdered sufficiency
Shaping Midgard’s holds and leaving all emptiness.
(A furtively insensible glance beneath the foliage:
The dawningmist caresses the stones.)
Striding hidden through (the belonging pondweed)
Climbing over a rained creek (inside a soft misty rain)
Reading in raindrops on rose-hip; (my property)
I am clear. Clearer than wellwaters megin
I am clear on what is dead with this life.
Clear. Harder than Sorrow’s first tears
Clear. Cleaner than sustenance of real gladness