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To the goddess of nature; and with her; and for her.

September 6, 2014

The woods are cold
and dark.
I speak out to the wind,
“Please carry me away from here!”
but nothing stirs the air,
and I remain.

The sea is wild
and vast.
I call out to the sky,
“Reveal to me the way to go!”
but formless clouds are all
the sky displays.

The mountains high
and sharp
observe me plead with rain:
“I beg you, make my form anew!”
but all it does is clean
my ancient skin.

The desert wide
and dry
absorbs my cries to time:
“Please let me be or finish me!”
but time just moves the dunes
and on me rests.

All nature, old
and new,
beats in my aching heart,
and without words she understands;
but still, I am alone,
and stand apart.

The goddess, cruel,
and wise,
breathes words into my veins,
“I’ll carry you and make you new;
and show you where to step.
Just rest, and breathe.

“The woods don’t know
your name;
I’ll whisper it in tongues
the trees will understand, and when
the wind blows warm and light
you’ll find a home.

“The sea is old
and just,
but cannot read your eyes;
I’ll paint them in the coloured skies
and she will then discern
your coming path.

“The mountains are
of earth,
but also touch the skies;
within their roots I’ll plant your seed
and you will grow anew,
in flesh and ghost.

“The desert knows
just sand
and sun, and cannot tell
the time, but I will call its grains
to speak, and they will dance
and sing to you.

“All nature is
my child,
but she is not my slave;
and you are just a tiny part,
of import small
but so, so deep.

“My son, so tired
and weak,
release yourself to find
belief in me within your breast.”
I answer with a sigh,
“I will. I’ll try.”

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