Sacred Tree Of Iduna
2018 12 06
You tell me everything you once forgot
so I write it all down in the blank book
which I hide under the fridge when the war
burns down the illusions of our past.
I ride into Berlin on white giraffe,
proclaimed the new messiah of your world,
so vote for me as pretend president,
then I can ring cathedral bells at dawn.
I shall burn down the evil Roman cross
to free our minds from the crucified god
so we can dance in Witan ring of stones
and welcome return of First Mother Gearthe.
Tall bearded warrior with long curving horns
emerges from dark cavern of despair
to crucify the tyrant with gold crown
who enslaved our people in castle halls.
Striding with Einstein in streets of Berlin,
I pause and stare with astonished delight
when I see Odin and Jesus play chess
two thousand years over souls of mankind.
Gothinia shall rise from ashes of Europe,
proclaims the old blind woman selling apples
in every market town along the Rhine,
but no one hears as they watch television.
Tall bearded wizard wearing helm of horns
appears from mist in Black Forest at dawn,
and asks if we are loyal to the crown
shining jewels worn by greedy sons of Jesus.
Pointing magic wand at my startled face,
Odin asks if I worship lord of night
in moonlit mountains where wild mushrooms grow,
or if I worship phony lord of light.
I have attended service in both realms,
praising Odin in misty grove of oak,
praising Jesus in cathedral of stone,
to worship both God and Saturn with love.
My father was child of Jesus and Marya,
my mother was child of Odin and Frigga,
so both are the gods of my beating heart,
for they live again in dreams of my mind.
I am half-breed witch in divided world,
soul torn between the coven and the church,
so instead of choosing one or the other
I choose both as precious truths in my heart.
The king of light in the stone castle hall,
the king of night in the tree temple grove,
each rules the realm they understand the best,
so I combine both in my singing heart.
I am son of Saturnus, son of Kronos,
blind wizard hanging in old Tree of Runes,
harrowed in the forest of laughing ghosts,
so I can channel voices of the dead.
I wander alone in forest of ghosts,
listening to the secrets they try to hide,
where witches in covens, learning to cook,
were raped and murdered by the sons of Jesus.
I weep in sorrow for their broken souls,
wandering forever in waste land of fear,
to find priests built cathedrals on the witans,
but still their bones sing in beams of moonlight.
I want to unite clans of Christ and Odin
so we decorate Sacred Tree of Iduna
with apples and candles that glow with love,
beaming fellowship on cold winter nights.
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