Reprise

Crazy Horse Goes Heim: Revolution 7

Crazy Horse Goes Heim: Revolution 7

Originally Published 29 March 2023

Having been lost for a time,
Crazy Horse finds Friend Home,
where the fair Pale People play out 
their players’ parts, a fine mummer’s farce 

for sad, once-fearful faces forgotten,
faded near-naught amongst fouled once-faith. 
The Good, the Gone, the gilded Never-Were
go on, ungrounded at World’s End. 

Find their guises where folk-found before:
on the Deep, storm-roiled, in flickering flame,
whence the Gap, dark-fawning void yawning,
nadir `neath the deep steed’s dumb, graceless roots.

Dwindled ignore Oðr-jór amongst,
shuffle diminished through trodden-path ash,
pacing old roles in threadbare robes,
facades lacing meaning et Mundi.

Þrár-Horse hangs head, haunted here 
by heedless wanderers dumb as days 
dying down to dust, desponds the gloom-trust 
ghosting Geistvangrr, old heim’s apt new name. 

New nomen, pique-granted and wyrd-given, 
means no more to that nonage than dusklight 
dancing dark waters heaving the whale-roads
beneath creaking sea-steeds’ bows and bellies. 

Drifter despairs Daughter’s sending,
wonders why this place, where waking 
seems so far, where wind never blows.
The Crofters forever wend, farm nothing.  

They fail and they move and they fade
amongst fallow fields; they fall and forget,
rise and forge on towards no purpose 
beyond feeble gray coursing, these Nought-Gods.

The gray horizon hies close, hews Horse heart; 
this fading and forgetting foresees 
his family’s future, his kithfolk, kin
dwindled to little more than memory.