now begins the third stage
embodiment of the goddess
in dull patina
wisdom
they tell me
whet on sharp days and rock hard nights
spun on the web of baby hair
moistened with the sweat of thousands
brutal tears of more
burnished with ashes
maturity
haunted with the sage sweet breath of young lovers
slow rivers winding deep
strong arms holding stars apart
then loosing lessons to win
now I am a rock
settled in the river
rills pass by
loosing small pieces
the sear, the yellow leaf
into the future
I am an empty bowl
the crone
1 comment:
Kate - I'm in an American Poetry class and I have to tell you, your poetry is so much better than some of these idiots I'm studying. Have you ever read Sylvia Plath?? YIKES!!! What a miserable woman she was; she committed suicide. You are very good!
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