Ragnarok

 

The Norns made it so.

Perhaps they were bored.

Twirling the fates,

Assuring the end of all things

In the Great Winter.

Churning and growing

Coming closer, colder, darker.

Wind will cut

As much as any ax.

The light and goodness will fail.

Some will struggle on,

Giving the gods great entertainment,

Hating them and begging them for mercy.

The only warmth will be the forge.

The endless ring of hammers.

The only beauty: gleaming metal,

Sharp as the north wind.

Blood will spill and steam,

Drifting in the steel sky.

Hope must die.

Or so it seems.

There is hope, but it will be long in coming.

Endure if you can.

Become strong if you can.

But abandon yourself as you are today.

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