<blockquote>Feoh byþ frofur fira gehwylcum;<br/>sceal Ðeah manna gehwylc miclun hyt dælan<br/>gif he wile for drihtne domes hleotan.</blockquote>
<blockquote>Wealth is a comfort to all men;<br/>yet must every man bestow it freely,<br/>if he wish to gain honour in the sight of the Lord.</blockquote>
<p>Norwegian rune poem:</p>
<blockquote>Fé vældr frænda róge;<br/>føðesk ulfr í skóge.</blockquote>
<blockquote>Wealth is a source of discord among kinsmen;<br/>the wolf lives in the forest.</blockquote>
<p>A modern poem:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>"You know exactly what kind of future I want,"<br/>
you replied<br/>
one night<br/>
when anxiety did haunt<br/>
my skin, my ligaments, my every bone,<br/>
wondering when comes my time to return home.</p>
<p>Let the seals<br/>
be broken; let the truth<br/>
be revealed!<br/>
It's been a long time since I let myself feel<br/>
anything other than monotony, playing the marathon<br/>
runner in sight of the finish line,<br/>
the last of the homework<br/>
or typing 'til midnight.</p>
<p>This draconic blood I could never still,<br/>
but still I managed to amass myself a hill<br/>
of words not spoken, not written down,<br/>
enough to bury me or in them myself drown.<br/>
For, I must admit, I was planning<br/>
on being at least somewhat dead by now<br/>
with no need for verse or musical tone,<br/>
just coma's deep sleep 'til you come<br/>
and finally bring me home.</p>
<p>"You know what kind of future I desire,"<br/>
you affirm<br/>
as I burn<br/>
on my own funeral pyre<br/>
over and over again every day,<br/>
impatient for egress together to Sablade.</p>
<p>All the writing guides I've ever read say<br/>
that it's kind of like learning to ride a bike.<br/>
You never really forget, but sometimes<br/>
you have to get off and go for a hike<br/>
dragging the damn thing alongside<br/>
you until the road is flat and smooth again.</p>
<p>And sometimes a friend<br/>
lends<br/>
you a hand.</p>
<p>I turn my head to the sunsetting sky<br/>
bleeding purple and blue and discarded peach rinds.<br/>
Half-delirious, you're not far behind<br/>
me<br/>
as I hold up my hand to catch the waking breeze.<br/>
A head on my shoulder, a hand on my belt.<br/>
"Do you hear the leaves rustling? <strong>It's our wealth.</strong>"</p>
