Majestic spirits
dancing in the
firelight, watched
by distant eyes.
Rageful surge
of divine energy
stokes the fire,
soothing the soul.
Burning bright
is the fire
encased in the
binds of flesh.
Should it burn
out of control
or will men
contain their fire?
Poetry for the Gods 
A very good perceptive of Wod. The beserker rage or the poet close to madness. Wod reminds me of Cu Chulainn “warpspasm” that needs 3 vats of cold water to calm or the Irish Gaelic “fire in the head” of poets. 4,000 years ago in Czech Republic a group of Indo-European people who would become the Germanic, Celtic and Finnish linguistic tribes created the words for their religion, either changing Proto-Indo-European words or adopting Old European words. Poetry became the word for seer, truth teller, prophecy, and shamanism. All cultures kept that understanding that poets could become filled with the ability to reach the deities and in their performance convey that power. Volvas speak in alliteration unless lying, in the Eddas. Wod is so all consuming that we have Vil (will) to focus it. It’s like at the end we’re being asked what way we’ll use our Wod, how our Will is going to use the raw power that we can tap into. It’s a good meditation and reminder of our fire – and the responsiblity to funnel it in a healthy way, lest we be consumed by rage or madness.
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