Wodin’s Woe

Do you not wish for things to change?
This ill-fitted tapestry of fate
Can things be not more of the same
Born in the wrong city, the wrong century, on a wrong day

Wouldn’t you rather be in a different place?
Fingers entwined, just walk through our days
All that is wrong is a sign of the days
They demark the land and the air I breathe

I would go to war for you still
Die with a locket with your picture, by my chest
Assured in death, that you waited till my last
That it was my breath that failed, not the love

In war, I could have written letters to you still
With unbridled longing, not laced with melancholic jest
I could have poured my heart out in ways Kafka could only dream
Haunted by the eight days of your love, and a lifetime of grief

Bear witness, I am envy made flesh through the ages
I am the same who hacked the God of Nile to pieces
I could have hung myself for nine days by Yggdrasil too
Only for a glimpse of what was in your heart when you left

Alas, certainties are not with what I deal
Even your love boiled down to a random probability
How can we be sure, you change the odds when you measure them all
So I sit through my days, right eye intact and everything else amiss

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