Dear Sigyn,

you fool.

We both know he doesn’t love you.

Catching the venom meant for his eye,

silent even though he should cry

out in fury at your meddling.

Dear Sigyn,

you fool.

Even the serpent laughs at you.

I’d think your body was through

even if your heart was still into

an idiot’s errand that no one would rue.

Dear Sigyn,

you fool.

The end ...

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I know myself hanging there,
on that windy tree,
whose roots are unknown,
a sacrifice of myself to myself,
Wounded by my spear Gungnir,
for nine long nights and days I hung,
No food nor drink was brought to me,
Sinking into death they appeared,
Reaching out with a scream,
I grasped the runes,
and sunk from the tree,
with a sigh.

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Banished for an act not committed,

I am cursed by my fate,

A prophecy they said,

foretold by the Norns,

of me devouring Allfather.

Cursed I am,

by my blood.

Son of Chaos,

Mischief was expected,

I am not one for tricks,

Despite my wily father.

Cursed I am,

by my strength

and pride.

They used this against me,

told me it was a test of strength.

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