Twas around the Winter solstice
When we passed Álfheim’s gate.
Golden glowing Elven lords salute,
We resign ourselves to our fate.

Plunging into Jörð’s womb,
Dark damp dwarven domain,
Crawl like maggots in her flesh,
Arriving at last in Svartálfheim.

Down the black pit we go,
Setting aside all rational fear.
Walking past the very spot where
Sindri and Brokkr forged Mjölnir

Green glowing eyes in shadow
Follow every step, every turn.
Knowing if we go deep enough
In Surt’s fires we’ll surely burn.

If fiery pits grow ever nearer
Why do our bones grow so cold?
If Sól’s light we never again see
Will our story remain forever untold?


Pronunciation key for the ancient Norse names in the poem:
Álfheim = Alf-Hame (Elf Home)
Jörð = Yorth
Svartálfheim = Svart-Alf-Hame (Black Elf Home)
Brokkr = Brock
Mjölnir = Mee-oll-near
Sól = Soul

This was my response to The Daily Post‘s Daily Prompt: Underground.