The daughter forgot the nest.
She left it, fading in memory,
Until memory washed away,
Like footprints on the shore.
Out of the deadly ocean we call life,
She found the shore,
And seeing her mother still nesting,
She made new footprints.
My daughter, mother sings delighted,
My love for you is boundless.
My heart breaks with every glimmer of you:
You left before you could hatch;
You existed before laid for birth.
You have never known my love:
What did the world teach you?
I know your love, daughter haughtily grumbled,
Love is passion:
It divides pleasure and pain;
It conquers war and ministers peace;
It imprisons hate and waylays death.
Oh, mother simpered,
Sorrow burrowing in her expression,
Not abating when she spoke:
Daughter why are you so bitter?
Aghast, daughter saw betrayal in,
Mother's skin and bones:
Me? Bitter? You don't know me!
Mother shifted her weight,
Letting her gentle warmth,
Embrace her sleeping children equally:
I know you through your beliefs,
And you don't know love,
Because you live the lives,
Of lies, and tricks,
Hate and war.
You think you are right, because,
You assembled fragments of truths;
See here, I have the whole picture.
Summoning her deepest conviction,
Mother spoke from her heart:
Love unites pain and pleasure,
Because pain teaches,
And pleasure rewards;
Pain directs,
And pleasure roots;
If they don't work together,
We are utterly lost.
Mother sang her words,
Like a symphony of beauty:
Love,
Misguided love,
Sows wars,
As easily as it ministers peace,
But hate ignites war because,
We imprison our hate,
Instead of letting it go free,
And replacing hate,
With love.
Hate imprisoned,
Is a monster,
Snarling in the cage,
Luring bystanders,
That it may be set free.
Mother's song was a tempest,
Rattling the trees,
Sweeping the forest floor,
Carrying the clouds,
She sang with purpose:
Love does not waylay death,
Love is death,
Love is the death of hate,
War, and sin,
But it must be true love.
True love? Daughter despaired.
Mother's song quieted,
An eerie echo in the wake,
Of the song's crescendo:
Love is not passion,
Love is peace.
Daughter's eyes showed defiance.
Mother's song settled to soft steps,
Like water drops gleefully,
Jumping from trees:
You don't believe me,
Because you don't know love...
Daughter turned her head,
To look at the setting sun,
Storm clouds of dissent,
Brewing in her mind,
And there she saw it!
The setting of the sun...
The sun allows itself to die,
Assured that it will,
Be born again in morning.
The moon and stars,
Mostly gone during day,
Yet night provides their,
Reigning.
Storms enrage the elements,
And destroy the founded,
But enrich the earth,
And scatter the seeds for new life.
Predators linger, lurk and listen,
Waiting to crawl, catch, ****!
Yet even they must,
Protect and raise their children,
Because there is a time,
For weakness...
For strength...
For death...
For life...
Daughter turned back to mother:
May I shelter my siblings?
Mother smiled:
Now you know...
Love is in the embrace.
Before summer,
Siblings hatched,
Marveling at their sister,
Big, and strong,
In heart and stature.
When they learned to fly,
They flew with her.
When she died,
They laid her to rest,
And mother, too.
If love is not taught,
To willing ears,
It is wasted,
Like water through,
Open hands.
If your wings,
Tire from love,
Know this:
Love rewards,
For love commands peace,
pleasure, pain, hate,
Yes...
Even death.
Love commands.