In youth you roamed the earth as honoured guest,
The blood of gods and giants in your veins;
Whatever traps you sprung were loosed in jest,
The first and last to be adorned with chains.
Where laws and strictures fail, there’s always you –
A name to summon cunning, loose the tongue.
When plans come spinning, quite out of the blue,
Yes: you’re the one whose praise is rightly sung.
But jokers cannot always court guffaws;
Ambition’s bitter, given second place.
Your children held to ransom, framed as flaws,
Will rip the cords that grip your smile in place.
You knotted threads that bound the gods to Fate;
When twilight falls, your flames will liberate.
Following the @allographica prompt for 10th April (write a sonnet about your favourite god/ saint/ superhero), I ended up doing a swift bit of research/ reminding myself about Loki, Norse god of cunning, chaos, plots, tricks, and schemes. I hope I've done said deity justice with this somewhat twisted net of multiple meanings.
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| Gorgeously ambiguous image, "Laufeyr-sonr" (Laufey's son) by @sceit_a, found unattributed elsewhere and tracked down to Deviantart (let me know if I should remove it!) |
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