The sound of the Nordic God’s anger thunders in my ears

as Freya plays with seduction a song in which to entrap

My O.K. Internal Haze and give rise to the tricks of the mind.

The Nordic Gods play havoc with the landscape, the boundary

between my vision and the vast sea that was crossed by Freya in search

of someone to take notice of the gentle notes of joy, despair and anguish,

the dominant emotion of love for the guitar she wields with a shy smile.

Her weapon, simpler than the Ax favoured by more aggressive

company, in which she plucks and lets it embrace my heart and is more easily

won than the sight of a mace crashing down on my mind employed by bitterness and hate.

My O.K. Internal Haze always wins through. The bare bones of my life

more easily seduced by a siren’s call leading me to safety, not desolation

to cling to the rocks of Freya’s offer of salvation, rather than capitulate to the

song of supposed harmony employed in the south for my own hypothetical nightmare.

The Norse God looks down upon me and spits in my eye but Freya warms me

with hope of a music redemption and explains that the Gods I have followed before

will do even worse when they capture me and ask me to join their side;

knowing full well that I will not submit to their branded tricks of the mind.

Freya plays near my home once more and shifts from Norse God

to the vision of heavenly wonder holding court with a lyrical psalm of undeserved hope.

 Ian D. Hall 2014