daylight, inflamed from your touch, fell softly;
she is the Mistress of the Universe.
rejoicing in Her own spirit, She inspires,
despite the dissonance between man-kind
and the land, filling their lungs blissfully.
in the beginning, Her shadow seemed still,
high and quiet, mocking the hands of time
(not yet understood, ‘til enlightenment
of knowledge.) She would sit up on Her throne,
peering down, gazing, envious of Us,
as She guards her post obediently
under Nature’s inevitable spell,
wishing that she could end Her troubled thoughts.
She knows she must wake and rise each morning,
She knows Her penance is everlasting.
it doesn’t make it any easier,
being aware of the cross She must bear;
by love, however, She always complies –
sometimes with sweaty palms, quivering lips,
unsteady balance, a crack in her voice –
(regardless, She washes over Our skin)
and cleanses Us of darkness and loneliness.
Her light: a skewed version of teardrops,
perhaps dried by Her heart, as She weeps flames
down her cheeks, a permanent and bold blush
extinguished of purest sin and shyness.
Her intentions have always been Good. Right.
when She hides Her face, She does so gently
searching for a moment to catch Her breath,
for a break from Her continual chore,
as She is worn more than any pair of shoes –
been to more places, been to all places,
She has cried in every small corner of
Nature’s bedroom. She is fearful, but strong
even as She yells, screams, pleads Us to stop,
wishing that we could end Our troubled actions.
i say to Her, i’m sorry for the damage.
i cover her eyes, and kiss Her skin
despite the distance that lies between Us.
i know she is tired. wallowing in
exhaustion. Her days pass. humbly. swiftly.
i also know She is determined to
pull herself from the dark and into the
light. She inspires. She lifts herself up.