The Book of Dwarf

Some Image

The Book of Dwarf

Some Image


Some Image

Wait! Whilst I tell of a wondrous dream

that came to me in the middle of one night

when dwarfs were sleeping on their beds of stone

and all the jewels of heaven sparkled overhead.

[Yes, Snurri the Scribbler is a bit verbose to say the least, Editor]

For, it seemed to me, I heard a wondrous voice

that spoke into the portals of my ears

and breathed upon me hot and fiery breath

[Here, Snurri is trying to lay claim to having seen the Book of Dwarf, albeit in a dream, Editor]

I woke, I deemed, and saw before

the likeness of a book upon a basalt plinth

and when I reached to touch that grain

again the voice boomed out upon me.

[It has always been a significant convenience to claim some kind of divine commandment when making extreme claims. It helps to gain some credibility with the reader, Editor]

And it commanded me to read.

And so did I and turned each marble page

and wondered at the sharp runes within,

bright and black obsidian.

What mystery it was that I could hear

the words as all the marks I scanned

and laid my finger on each one?

Like a new learned child, I marvelled

at the power of those words:

each bright liquid crystal of understanding.

How long I stood and read and touched thereupon?

When at last I turned the stone and found

the pure perfection of the empty page,

I woke and I was alone upon the sullen moors

with all the fell things abroad.

My heart was beating fast

and on my beardless face the sweat did cool.

I grabbed my dirk and cast about

and through the whispering mist did flee

until with mud upon my boots and kilt

and lank hair like snakes upon my head,

I tumbled through the eager door

and crashed upon the hard unyielding flags beneath.