copyright 2020 kb mcanelly
Among the lost,
we briars and thorns bristle:
We call ourselves up.
Brick and mortar stubborn
asphalt tempers
orange mesh and yellow cones
stones crumbling
shattered glass tumbling
through our minds
shards settling deep
between boarded hearts
links of twisted steel.
Bent with survival
we will thrive
coming up
through urban decay.
Posted in Art
Something special in the value of nine.
From the Highest Peaks of Midgaard Where the Sons of Men Do Hold, To the Killing Chill of Niflheim The Land of Ice and Cold. To the Furnace Blast of Muspelheim Where Flame Leaps Far and Nigh, Nothing Born of Yggdrasil Escapes the Ravens Eye.
Down To the Depths of Svartalfheim Where Stone and Anvil Call, Unto High Liossalfheim Where Dark Ne’er Comes at All. High Up Over Jotunheim Where Giants Hold Their Court, All the Deeds of Every Land The Ravens Sift and Sort.
To the Heights of Vanaheim Where Elder Gods do Roam, Unto the Deepest Reach of Hel Where Spirits Make Their Home. And Last Up Into Asgaards Halls Where They May Find Their Havens, For It Is Known, Though All Men Fall, The Gods Do Keep the Ravens.
(A poem written by ThorinRuriksson of Reddit to help you learn the nine realms. Original Post. ThorinRuriksson…
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Posted in Art
NINE POINT VIEW 