On wild winter nights the Vikings
In want of springtime light
Wove stories round their fire rings
Allegories of Godly might.
About how the works of righteousness
Executed for self-glory
Are cannibalistic emptiness
Like the Midgaurd Serpent’s story
Whose snaking form winds round the world
His tail inside his jaws
Down his throat his tail does curl
He swallows without pause.
And so we too, so full of self,
Are feasting on our flesh.
We must have Heaven’s help
To release our hold and rest.
So our blood flows free
As the tail comes out our throats
So hardened hearts will grieve
At the loss of all their hope.
We writhe in healing pain
As the Spirit extricates the tail,
We lose the world for a soul to gain:
In death our life prevails.
With this sword the veil is torn,
And we soar beyond the grave.
When the body dies the soul is born
No more to be enslaved
To its passionate promotion:
Of the emptiness inside.
That swelling swirling ocean
Disappearing with the tide.
But the things of spirit realm
Seeming light and airy and lofty
Are solid as a longboat helm
Cutting currents cold and lonely.
We see ourselves as solid,
Sitting firm on upon our rock
But truly we’re waxing pallid
Heavy Heaven – sharp and real-
Causing pain where it touches
All the fakeness we pursue with zeal,
Killing death with vicious clutches.
And so we will with unveiled face
Behold the mountain peaks in glory,
Seeing our invisibility erased
As we are consumed into God’s story.
In every myth, a word of truth
Foreshadows future grace
Ancient stories ring with proof
Of the things we see in faith.