Flames burn brightest in darkness,
volcanic truths that sing the end of days.

Mother,

I would write you other than this
handful of platitudes, let your ash
be breath-ed into ember, your sparks scattered
across the midnight sky to bear forth
the sun and other fierce stars.

But I am no god,
and heaven is hot to the touch. There is pain
in the burning.

Judgment
is like nightmare, a woman
with a fiery sword whose heart smolders
until the seas are made new.

Another in the series of poems for the collaborative Nine Realms project. You can find out more of the myth behind Muspelheim, the Realm of Fire, here. Also, please support this amazing, multi-faceted international arts endeavor (which includes poets, visual artists, musicians & the carving of a real Viking boat)– our Indiegogo campaign ends next week!