The Guardians and my Personal Creed (Poetry)
This is the Ward of Wyrds creed, written in the Dróttkvætt meter.
Life is full of lies, pain, lifeless in grief we feel. Wyrd is not always a joy; alas, that is grounds for growth. A journey sought ‘neath the need fire; and the Ward’s hands. Wards guide, comfort, console contacting those sought out.
The growth inside the self, thy heartaches, joys, and dreams all come forth in forces great. Fortune smiles as the Ward steps forward to steer t’wards struggles being shaken. The tenets of the Ward thy guiding principles.
To guide, care, and to hold. To watch o’er and keep safe. Secure from unseen and seen. To care for the pain that comes with the hard changes, the lessons we endure. None tread lone, and none will know loss without support.
Peace is found through perils; Peace through trials of response. Strength found mid the stresses stout with weakness and strife. Pruning the chaff proudly, priming the erosion necessary for next steps. Next the true growth begins.
This is a Ward’s thatched home. Timeless and steadfast,Wards stand unsung, a steady striking pillar. The friends, confidants whose concrete courtesy is needed, amongst those in the Ward’s threads. Unseen and yet seen.
When everything whists ‘way, when all falls deep into night, when realms begin waning, when they rise to great height, and beckon threads all merge. Another layer to lead one to find the Ward, the bridge, the balance. Seen, unseen.
Bringing forth the foretold: fortunes and fated tales. Conveyed between both conscripted, and Wyrds web. Casting Galdr, casting carefully curated wonders of placed ward works; worthy of protecting
our charge and those outside our Earth's reach in realms far. The Ward, keeper, the tasked, the ones who relish the chaos. Balance changing- chasing the in-between, the home between the weaves, the Wyrd that called us there.
Upon heeding heralded heavy calls you are one. One with Wyrd, the onset onlooking over all. You join with Wyrd willing, wilding, weaving your way ‘tween every taut twisted twirling atom and breath.
The Origins, the tales, the constant flow of life’s energy envelops entirely calling us to seek our unbridled unfettered freedom through the joys of our thin-lined life. Threads of final rest wait.
The end of our creed is this: Wards do not break, they do not bend, and do not submit to those who bear harm or ill to another. We are the ones, when the worlds tell us to move, we plant our feet among the roots of Yggdrasil and say with the full might of Wyrd: “No you move.”