The Vølva's prophecy

Wayward tiredness hit suddenly
the weather worn Vølva
she had walked a weary way
oozing of other ornamentation
than her usual brilliance
contrary to the everyday excitement
she was completely exhausted
not from anything avowed that she
could pinpoint or a place known;
it was the autumnal austerity
or maybe the wintry worry.

The summer had been what she wanted
so lots of glorious going-ons
had filled her sight of that season.

With some terrible threnian trepidation
she did not conjecture comfortable chills
but dark fearful physical fevers
the ever-lasting white lights,
covert wars, furtive diseases,
whose origins could not be observed,
but worse of all a dissatisfaction
in all humanity with themselves
their lots, their contemplations
of spineless spirituality -
the me-me-me winning out over
the gentle - genuine - gestation
of inane, perhaps insane goodness
that the Vølva after all felt
was present in any human soul.

Her brow was furrowed - her body bent
she schlepped her sandalled feet
along the river bed near where
she knew to find the old tree Ygdrasil
she was seeing a war not stopped
when it could have been
hatred blossoming in all its might
when it could have been - curbed
bigotry of religious and other kinds
when they could have been hindered.
With what the water nymphs seemed to ask?
With education and humility
with emancipation and humor
with endowing the female population
a head start in providing for their houses
thereby making them the decision makers
not the testosterone-filled übermale.
Yet the Vølva had waited and she had
even spoken to Sophia her wise sister
about whether it was possible to veer
from one form of brain-part to another?
That deed was debatable - even an evolution
not truly desired, except .... except...
Was it possible to combine
the male with the female side
and in a large orgy transcend
like Inana had visited the underworld
only to find her dead-beat husband
who was just fine, given he could not care
whether his goddess wife was with him or not.
This transformation would not truly happen
in this dual double-headed vital world.

The wondering Vølva waited at Yggdrasil,
the life tree, looking vexed, towards the west
from where there is no way back.
Gradually she glimpsed something
in the dubious distance illuminated
she could not pick out what it was.

A great auburn sunset finally set
over the austere autumnal landscape
that surrounded the augural Vølva
She gazed and gloomily glimpsed a tiny figure...
Could it be ... her knight - her Shmuel...?
She still desired him - had he been a mere mirage
whom she as a female sometimes wanted,
her alter ego, if only for a transitory time
out of lust, out of romantic yearnings?
Her foremothers of mythological minds
had not been so lucky with their males
there was nothing, but rape and slander
and wars of desire - for a fleeting moment
of sensual sex and phallic progeniture.

No, this figure was fixedly female ...
her belowed daughter appeared
to her in a phoenix form getting ready
for nesting and burning - horror slighted
the profundicated seeress as she stretched
out her palms against the sight -
knowing in her heart that what she saw
was the end of her world as she knew it.

Against the backdrop of the resplendent sunset
with the wings of her daughter's die
brilliant - a thousand emblazoned auras
of all the fecund sanguine vermilion
she watched as the phoenix burned
and out of the ashes from her vision
she saw slowly her daughter's rebirth
as well as - another - of her own blood
the wonderful world of a earthly yield
near Ygdrasil, the old life tree,
and tears dropped from her teal eyes -
the Vølva embraced her sight's victory.