Most think You only cleverness and mischief,
if they know of You at all.
Others still get what they know of You
from fiction, thinking You a blue-skinned mini-monster
with bloody eyes and bloody hands.
But ‘giant’ doesn’t always refer to size;
sometimes it indicates the height of Your ambitions,
or the vastness of Your reach;
I do not pretend that I know Your plans,
I only know that they are not for those like me to know.
Jotun You are, blood-brother to He who owns me,
and I pay attention to His demands and desires,
and things laid out in the lore;
at first it was only due to duty
that I poured out offerings to You
when I made them for Him,
but of late there is more to it than that.
I am not seduced by the pretty face worn by the
fictional ‘You’, scarlip;
Beauty cannot be trusted,
it has its own agendas,
is all too often only deep as skin’s surface,
and anyway, I know that is not the real You, though
–shapeshifter that you are—
I know you could wear that mask if You chose.
But why would You choose to?
I cannot think there are things You could not do
without that lie of a smirk;
they call You Lie-Smith,
but You tell the truth when it suits You.
Honesty can be a weapon, cutting, bruising,
killing when wielded correctly,
and I have no doubt whatsoever
that You are skilled in its use.
I will not say You are unknowable,
but the knowing of You is the work of a lifetime—
or two, or three, or ten—
and not something to be gained
in a night’s casual jesting
or the reading of however many books I might buy;
You cannot be found in paper alone,
but only in life.
I cannot call myself Lokean,
not when I belong to another,
but I will confess a fascination with You
the lure a serpent has for a mouse,
a fascination that was not there in the beginning.
I want to know You better,
and I know how disastrous that has been
for some of those I know,
and wonder if it would be worth it.
I do not think myself incapable of accidentally
angering You in my fervor,
and there would be nothing to stand
in the way of Your wrath if I did so;
He who owns me would not protect me,
for He does not value or respect stupidity.
It would definitely be a lesson, of a sort,
though one I do not think I would enjoy.
Still, if I survived it, I could definitely say
I knew You better, afterward.
Understand, such a mistake would never
arise out of disrespect, contempt, or malice;
but I could not say in truth
that it might not come from fear;
given what I do know of You,
only a fool would not entertain
a healthy fear of You,
just as only a fool would not hold
a healthy fear of a tornado,
or a rattlesnake,
or a forest fire,
or a flood.
These things might contain no hatred in them
for those they destroy as they go about their business,
but they destroy and they kill anyway.
You are like that,
a force of nature,
not to be underestimated,
or made light of.
I have no wish to do any of those things,
only an overabundance of caution,
and a healthy fear of what You are capable of,
though I do not consider myself a coward.
I would like to learn more of You,
I do not shy away from that,
and I would dare much
and ask for no favors to do so,
but not without His permission,
and not without a plea that You not shatter me
for my presumption.