I peek through the corner of my low lying days

And am hit by an idea so plain

That the glory we starve for

That the testimony of time we traverse,

Only sing to the tunes of

A warrior who

Carries the mass of civilization

On fingertips which

bends the sharpness of realism

With molded hands

Filled from the itch of hard work

And the boon of benevolence

I fantasy about the blossom the eye invites, Of fanatical fury and cherry trees,

Of falling dew drops plucked from the

flame of heaven

Of half repeated metaphors and

Of wholly denied truths.

A little blink sets in motion

the raging waterfalls waging wars against the world.

Oh, I wonder

About the

arms dotted by the brands of burden,

And feet swollen by the race of rage.


I see dresses stitched from lost daydreams of infancy and steeled by the crutches of adulthood.

Of bones fabricated from the face of earth,

Of blood soaked from the stage of sacred solitude.

And I recognize

It all

in the shoulders of a woman,

A goddess,

Who makes us

And our destiny. 


6 thoughts on “Goddess

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