the end

The farther away we get from our Mother,

the more of Her we break

dirty

heap with hatred.

We demand our desires be filled

at Her expense

at our peril.

Our wounded egos filled with all manner of things

to feed our starving souls

made obese on all manner of images made to make us blind,

hate our neighbor,

deaf to the weeping willows begging us to remember our beginnings

when love made us all.

 

When love made us all,

we could not know our destruction did not hide in darkness or hate

but in greedy indifference.

 

(c) r.l.elke