Dodheimsgard

Symptom

Dodheimsgard


Wonder do they stride at all 
who bore him over her 
glistening ground 
I wonder, do I sense the breath 
of dragons, steering sound 
I catch the gust with my hands 
like an open bowl 
and hope the beast never stills 
the wailing of his mould 
I wonder, does it pour me something opaque 
in mirrormere and grace 
this that has lasted for quite some time 
will it last throughout all days 
The sound turns undressed back to me 
like beryls floating in a wide stream 
I wonder is this the final chance 
to fulfill the golden steem 
The sound of finches 
ledged to the skin 
defy this pledged cry 
never has it really leaned to me as 
a burden or an obvious lie 
I wonder if her silver horns 
bestow poison into my chalice 
for I feel the stains like I've been 
touched, though wounded not from 
foreign malice 
Be with me and feel with me the 
sketch of your enchanting sky 
so I can hold you in my arms 
tight until the day I die