A poem about Loki by Galina Krasskova.
When they paint their nails
And gush about how sweet He is
And how He looks like that movie star
(you know the one)
how He soothes their egos
what pretty little snowflakes they are
that He stood with His brothers in that gasping gap
and slaughtered his own ancestor,
a sleeping giant who never did harm to anyone
(never did any good either, or so I’m told).
(tumblr makes forgetting easy)
that this is a God who rolled up His sleeves
whet the point of His spear,
took an ax
with forty whacks,
helped hack old Ymir up.
He split that oafish bastard’s skull
And sucked the marrow from His bones
and went about the bloody work
of making the worlds run.
When He was done,
He licked that ancestral blood from his lips
With a hearty smack.
People forget that.
View original post 168 more words