They May Fight On The Clouds

They may fight on the clouds riding horseback. They may turn the rivers red with blood. But Odin, the god of poets, the god of war With his band of female handmaiden warriors His Valkyries, he will not give anyone room. Except for those few, his choosers of the slain And the slain will then be carried to Valhalla, As heroes to once more live immortally again They may fight on the field of battle valiantly. They may even sing of victories fairly won. But Odin, the god of poets, the god of war He will throw his spear again and again. While riding his eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, And his spear will hit its mark and sink Into the hearts of beasts like a venomous snake. And no doubt his victims will undoubtedly fall. But Odin, the god of war, the god of the dead And the hall of the slain he will use his knowledge, His sorcery to defeat those who won't kneel, Bow before his royal feet. Wisdom is his alone. After bartering his sight for a far greater insight Those who don't agree will swing from the gallows. They may fight on the clouds riding horseback. They may turn the rivers red with bubbling blood. But Odin, the god of poets, the god of war Today, he alone knows what's truly in store. With his band of female warrior handmaidens He will cut the beast of the field down to straw. With a party of airborne horsemen accompanied By ravens and owls, the Wild Hunt is upon us. And all are sent scurrying like a fleeing whore. Back to the places where sleep's a wild pagan boar. The Wild Hunt of Odin by Peter Nicolai Arbo: Ekphrastic Writing Challenge 12/20/2024