, , , , ,



moon 2In the inky blue sky it hangs,
a perfectly round glowing orb,
like a golden apple,
daring to be picked.

I reach for it but can’t touch;
I listen for a voice but can’t hear.
My soul is frustrated
knowing that the secrets
it harbors should be mine.

moon holdingMy bones feel that my ancestors
knew this shining goddess
and worshiped at her feet,
waiting to be filled with the
knowledge of the Circle of Life.

I hunger for that communion.
I long to dance in her favored glow,
to call upon her wisdom and strength;
to be a conduit of the light
she brings to this world.

moon dancingBut here I stand, mute and
bereft of connection, wondering
what my ancestors would do
to call her closer to the earth
so that she might speak my name.



(Reposted from 4/3/15)