poetry

Eulogy To The Past. {poetry}

The wind

howls,

magnificent and shrieking,

like some wild woman,

unabashed, naked.

 

Her brow wet

with brine,

upturned to the most holy sky,

arms raised

in supplication

to a dying world,

embracing,

all that is.

 

And she

cross-legged,

beneath Gods and Goddesses,

hair whipped in the wind,

eyes brazen,

brown and soft.

 

A touch of

madness and desire,

no human soul

comprehends.

 

Her howling

becomes one with the wind,

distress signals to the raiment,

the ancient raiment

that poets and sages

sat under and above

for millenniums.

 

Legs stretched

in front of her,

toes uncurled,

she lies back

flat —

allowing to be cleansed

by the pelting rain,

the dying Winter,

the oncoming of Spring,

a rebirth of births,

a eulogy to the past,

a welcome to the present,

an embrace to the future.

 

What it holds

is of no concern,

for she knows

where home is,

away from this society,

away from the busy-ness,

away from monotony

and dramatics,

away from this life

consumed,

with triviality.

 

She is here

now,

waiting for you,

to set you free

from chains

you have bound yourself with.

 

Whip your shoulders back,

allow them to fall.

Feel the weight,

vanish.

 

Grab her hand, willing

loving,

kind,

calm,

pure and desirous.

 

Show her

how your soul

shines,

show her

how your eyes light up,

show her how you have released

from your very soul,

all the toxicity

of existence.

 

She is Earth, dirt,

rocks and stones,

limbs of trees,

mighty oaks and maples,

the birch and elm.

 

She is the silt of faultlines

holding this globe

together.

 

She is the mighty maelstrom,

every season,

without apology.

 

She is you,

me.

 

Come, come and relish this moment.

 

Even if only once.

 

Dine as a human, starved.

 

Sing of the grace bestowed upon you

for you are born to be supreme,

you are born with the ability to fly,

you are born with the gift to see

with six senses,

seven.

 

You are powerful in your wildness,

in your pure soul self.

 

She is here to tell you

to scream and cry,

until there is no speech,

to the skies,

to the clouds,

to the falling rain.

 

Let it wash upon you

like a sweet, cool dream,

and come, come my dear soul.

 

Do not wait.

No hesitation.

Moments are fleeting.

 

She is here,

now,

with you,

yet not eternal.

 

She will share secrets,

teach you how to see

with eyes,

that have no place

in the land of humankind.

 

She is cirrus, salt.

 

Each blade of grass,

leaves of the trees of her mane,

like a thoroughbred racing, wondrous,

eyes staring, mad,

 

There is no finish line

only now, here.

 

This moment.

 

Disrobe beneath this day.

 

Give thanks to the Great Creator,

to Mother Nature.

To the spirits that speak to you

in your dreams.

 

To the souls that have guided you

to this place,

this patch of Earth,

this precious time.

 

Bow your head in prayer,

dear soul.

 

For you are in the presence

of divinity.

***

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Susan Marie
Susan Marie is a writer, spoken word poet, and author. Her writing has been translated to Hindi, Croatian, Spanish and Dari. You could contact Susan via her website.
Susan Marie

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