For Hela

by Salena

We look to Hela, Goddess of Rot.

Hands raised in supplication,

refugees from land of life

seeking guidance and blot.

Skeletons in line, passed souls doing fine

dancing a jig to the waste rappers rhyme.

Purgatory’s a pit with an open door,

corpses eat meals on a glistening floor.

Black daylight, heavy air,

young and old souls

placed in Mother Death's care.

She cares for my grandsire, my father,

kin of my unknown and later my son.

Praise be to Hela, don't give her flack,

for she is Mistress of all who will survive Ragnorak.