- By Patrick Carr
- Published 07/10/2003
- MaverickMagazine 10
I hate the sun, hate how it follows me
throughout the day. From dawn's first steely light
till it sets behind the hills, I'm not free
while I hide in my room, shunning its spite
and one-eyed glaze. When I am called to land
and must burn my feet upon the sand, a rage
fills my veins, so at last, I understand
how Loki felt, bound beneath, trickster-sage,
tied by his son's own entrails. Above the stone,
the great serpent dripped it venomous bile on
his brow. His fury shook the Earth. My own
fist shakes now, impotent against the dawn.
I await my ragnorok when Skoll feasts
on light; then in darkness, I'll have my peace.
Copyright © Patrick Carr, 2004. All Rights Reserved.