lyonesse2710

Sacred / Profane My body undulates, curved, like the landscape in autumn, ripe, breasts, hips and thighs, womanly, sacred. (profane – hands on my skin, lines stark in my head, tainted.) They tell me I contain a Goddess in me, but if this is so, I cannot find her. (your hands mauling me, words sliding through my head, false gentleness disguising cruelty.) I, who was Artemis, desecrated, cannot see how to become Demeter, Corn Mother, reflecting the world in all her glory. These curves terrify me, my autumn hair belongs to another woman, and within this body likes the broken heart of a wounded child. How do I ascend,

Silence and Solitude I cannot bear this crowd about me, these people, talking at me, expecting that I will make meaningful conversation back, in a language that defeats me. Cornered, I become feral, and turn, bared teeth and claws exuding hollow menace, head lowered, growl choking my throat, and they cower, hurt, believing me uncaring, when all I crave is silence, understanding and kindness. Give me instead the quiet, solitude, early mornings, dew sweet and mirror bright with promise - scented with a thousand flowers and drifting mists; for my people are not yours, they do not speak with the thousand tongues of mankind. Instea