Dark Muse
08-07-2013, 11:49 PM
Earth Mother
Do you know the sound
of the mountain
when it screams?
The way in which
it tears you apart
from the inside
leaving you eviscerated?
In spite of what men say
she was never made
for death and vengeance,
she wanted love and life
but even these things too
come with a measure
of suffering.
And what can you do
when lovers are fickle
and children greedy, need-filled
things, never content to have
what is freely given
but determined to devour
everything no matter the cost
and consequence?
Perhaps she never should have
nursed them at her breast,
better yet to have left them to starve
but such is not her way
and still men call her cruel.
She grows tired of weeping
in silence, and who better
than a mother to have the right
to revoke life, given with her own pain
and labor?
When they still suckle at her teat
until it bleeds red and raw,
so she might decide to devour them
for a change from time to time
and they have the audacity
to take offence?
To wage war?
Crudely they speak of their
own right for dominion over she
to whom they are still enslaved
for the most basic of survival needs.
Without her they would be nothing,
if only she could withdraw entirely,
leave them utterly to their own devices,
only their skin and teeth
floating absently in space.
Let them build new palaces
out of their own bones
let them barter their bodies piecemeal
let them feed upon each other.
And she can slumber peacefully,
sorrow in her breast
for all her gifts rejected
for all her love taken for granted
but finally given solace.
Do you know the sound
of the mountain
when it screams?
The way in which
it tears you apart
from the inside
leaving you eviscerated?
In spite of what men say
she was never made
for death and vengeance,
she wanted love and life
but even these things too
come with a measure
of suffering.
And what can you do
when lovers are fickle
and children greedy, need-filled
things, never content to have
what is freely given
but determined to devour
everything no matter the cost
and consequence?
Perhaps she never should have
nursed them at her breast,
better yet to have left them to starve
but such is not her way
and still men call her cruel.
She grows tired of weeping
in silence, and who better
than a mother to have the right
to revoke life, given with her own pain
and labor?
When they still suckle at her teat
until it bleeds red and raw,
so she might decide to devour them
for a change from time to time
and they have the audacity
to take offence?
To wage war?
Crudely they speak of their
own right for dominion over she
to whom they are still enslaved
for the most basic of survival needs.
Without her they would be nothing,
if only she could withdraw entirely,
leave them utterly to their own devices,
only their skin and teeth
floating absently in space.
Let them build new palaces
out of their own bones
let them barter their bodies piecemeal
let them feed upon each other.
And she can slumber peacefully,
sorrow in her breast
for all her gifts rejected
for all her love taken for granted
but finally given solace.