POEM ‘Sanctify’ by Syreeta Hewson

Nature tells me stories all the time.
an endless and timeless flow.
There is not one time,
I enter the doorways of her being,
where she doesn’t reveal herself to me in some sacred way.
She is both poet and philosopher,
from the smallest details to the towering sky reaching trunks.
I enter, and she takes me by the hand
a field mouse, a hare, a swallow.
There is nothing petty in nature,
petite yes, her tiny things
but she is honest, big, in all her rawness, pulling no punches.
She is a living breathing example of femininity.
Awe inspiring, torrential, thunderous
Delicate, sweet, tremulous
She is the deep cracking of timbers falling in the storms
Veins opening from drought, begging the skies to feed her parched lands.
Every bird speaks her name
She is a deep low humming of bees and a scent of honey
Desert sands whipping flesh
Dangerous, craggy, sinuous, a flicking serpents tail.
She will show you no mercy but love you just as deep.
Bodies of water play across her vast belly, salty like tears
And clear, sweet tasting, running from mountains and streams
All her valleys and peaks, it all sees a much longer and wiser forecast than us.
She laughs, even, and when she laughs she spits out time.
Way more powerful and sentient, way beyond…
Even those who imagine they are saving her, trying to ‘save’ her, have no clue, she says
Her intelligence is something ‘other’, this is not some passive star planet without design, feeling, plan.
Don’t pity her her scars and wounds
Don’t pity her deaths, her harvest, her pains
You kill her by worrying her with your human concerns
Instead, she asks that you revel in her being
She asks that you enjoy her deliciousness with some decadence and humour.
That you fear her just enough, but that you laugh with delight at her wonders.
Pick her fruits, roll in her grasses, sanctify her!
Don’t talk about her, as if she is ruin
Be with her in the glory that still remains
Touch her, taste her!
Feel bark warm on your skin, place your cheek in her earthy hollows
Stop focusing on whats gone, and love what is there, now
She doesn’t want your kid gloves, she knows brutality well enough
Run your fingernails down her spine so she feels it!
Whisper, softly into her ears, they are everywhere.
Tell her, she is beautiful
Treat her, like a lover and a friend
And when this is not mere rote
Then you will see
The gates to her true being revealed.
Because you do not get there by ‘knowledge’ of the usual way
The keys are not given to all
Love is not enough to win her fair hand
Her veils are many
Her chambers still vastly untred, unexplored
Her secrets like a seed only just starting to crack open
Sanctify her

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One Comment

  1. Beautiful. I miss you, though we have never embraced. I miss you still. You have touched my soul in ways others could never know. I send you a smile, no matter the weather; a caress for your soul, if ever you need.
    Michael

    Like

    Reply

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