Moon Rising

by Willow Moon
copyright 1999

 

My eyes have been darkened for endless years
By tendril shadows of quickening fears.

Fear of the known
the spilt blood of brutality,
the ache of not enough,
the wrenching loss of loneliness,
the sting of the whip of blame.

Careless words tossed on the wind carries our Soul away.
Oh, who will call Her back? What will make Her stay?

The curses on the shores of Angelsey did not turn them,
They marched through time to us here.
Still they march, feeding on human society
Leaving their legacy of fear.
There is no where else to go,
No new people to plunder,
Friend changes to foe,
The tide turns.

Who can stop the moon from rising?
Not the boiling clouds of anger, billowing in our brains.
Who can stop the tender shoot from splitting concrete?
Not our edifice of reason, built on sands of experience.
Who can stop truth from being spoken?
Not the prattle of a million lies, wrapped in witty clichés.
Who can stop the lovers from loving?
Not the bloody sticks of hatred and fear.
Who can stop the Witches from dancing?
Not the raging river of blood and tears shed
by millions for the greed of a few.

For She rises in each one of us who cares.
Those who march and those who sit by the hour,
Those who shout and who mutter quiet spells of power,
Those who flourish and those who flounder, stumble and fall.

She lives among us, for the eyes that see.
The forbidden love that should not be.
She is our hope that moves us to change,
each in our own way.

Some embrace Her, some shut Her out.
Yet no one can turn Her back.
For She is dug up from the grave of centuries,
the dust of knowledge, the denial of doubt.

 

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