_as it was seen from a time beyond Ragnarok, from when we traveled back to the beginning of it all, standing on the shores of Yggdrasil_

Mike Koontz
Mar 30 · 4 min read
Norse views by Mike Koontz

Out of my

shallow grave

You raise me from the soil,

time and time

again

with the fluctuation touch

of your

words and fingers,

these things that play

a song of life so grand

feminine and sensual that it whispers tug

and pull

on the senses of

the

imaginary,

conjured forth

with wicked strokes of life itself

the sultry naught

that warms our souls combined


with words and love

slowly rolling

like ebb and tide

from down your tongue

and growing waters

the white-walled river

soon

break against

your soul and skin

the touch

of lapping tongues so skilled

aroused

and sensuous,

you call me up


conjured forth

to dance beneath

the ever tree

to the right of you

For all

of time and hels eternity


And once I live,

one more time

progressing

endless born

you raise your head, from down

your knees and hands


And while my flesh

was

nor

thought,

to ever be

yours again,

to hold with lust

beyond the grave

forlorn lost

Here I am


playing, hiding

living, loving every inch

of your body, flesh, and soul

amongst your shadows

Of each night,

we found a lease

to play,

like the moon

and roaming

wolf

that follows close

to each other

like

two birds, born

of feathers,

silent beings


multiply, converge

and merge

full of lust

and pleasured life

we are now

playing tag

eternal

as one that changes

from two to one and ever growing


morphing forms

we rush

through mist

on top

what is,

perhaps

a

broken fortress

From within, its well-worn walls

a hymn, of bursting hearts, and wells that cave

sounds cascading,

rising slowly

from down,

the throne and bedroom chambers


the castle walls of the beavers river,

curled up dreams like baleful stars

with raging foam

of moving oceans

a song to greet

our

last, few steps

like stones and soil, we flow together

down from

the mountains top

the crest that fall,

and endless climb

so high, weaved

entwined

like worm-like valleys

back to the crust

of the thousand seas

and burning arrows


Until once more,

the light

Of day,

will come to cease

our lustful games, the sun that passed

through our night

that lay

beneath our

tree

sprawling bare


Come good morning

to say goodbye,

you raise me

soon

enough,

to dance

with the moon

and you

and chasing wolves

of nights and stars and Fridays goddess,


here together

amongst its crowns

we stayed, remained, we ere and fall

changing slow,

while we run

with stars and dragons

we swim,

and hunt

climb and bleed,

venture forth

forever more


Beneath this tree

we call it ours

the stars we see

and hold their hands


music of the day

The gathering of black moths by Swallow the sun

https://open.spotify.com/track/3MrkTVVXnKX7Ubigr0sYha


It was the year

4.5 Billion

[ “and

with the rising

sun

we turned,

the pages

of a brand new day” ]

the birth of one more year

In front of me.

The vastness of the arctic spreads it’s wings over billabong and fields.

Snowy valleys and frost clad mountains. It is all illuminated and painted by the lingering nightly shadows. Dressed up to play in the cold and vibrant arctic scenery.

Fluffy white and deep ocean blue are the colors that mix so well with the pale red and yellow of the rising winters sun.

The scene that unfolds before my eyes this morning was given even more depth by the plume of misty winters fog that effortlessly reached out into the sky to greet the warming blanket of the winter sun.

Like a painter’s pencil, the air and rolling hills turned into nature’s most enchanting canvas. Wrapped all around me on this place where I now stood right next to this tree where we hand in hand in summer time barefoot walked through the tall green grass through the herds of flowers and wildlife.

The wings of crows and ravens and the mighty white-tailed eagles soared the sky above me this very day.

No doubt that they were looking for the tasty arctic rabbits that always roamed these fields of ours.

Or perhaps they tracked a Lynx or two, or a pack of wolves that silently made their way through the bush land, stalking our own footprints that laid frozen in the snow behind us like a ghost, silent and unseen but always near and always undeniable there.

I looked up at the rising sun as it painted these vivid clouds and frozen land and I smiled, thinking of the sights that already lay waiting for you, my girl.

Views and scenes to discover as we walk these plains hand in hand.

beyond2c

From the northern halls of the Vikings home comes this tribe of creative heralds. Writers, poets, photographers, creatives, great thinkers, fitness geeks, and experts. There are no stones and thoughts, and creative adventures left unturned in the pages of Beyond2c.

Mike Koontz

Written by

Author & Photography. PT, health & fitness. Science and sustainability advocate | aNorseView.com , Scandinavian.fitness.

beyond2c

beyond2c

From the northern halls of the Vikings home comes this tribe of creative heralds. Writers, poets, photographers, creatives, great thinkers, fitness geeks, and experts. There are no stones and thoughts, and creative adventures left unturned in the pages of Beyond2c.

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