By and For Pagan Writers
Mother is Cold, a Autumn poem
Her change-delicate, time stops for no one.
Her beautiful dress floats to the grass, revealing hidden secrets left unseen beneath her cover now left bare.
You can see her scars more clearly, her beauty harder to find without the lush summer makeup, her dresses, her cover.
You can see between the lines now, can see how hard time has been on her, the scars men have left on her, past lovers that in the end raped her, stole from her, then left without a backward glance.
Changing again from Mother to Crone, showing us her scars, showing us her pain in aging, and crying that she needs our love.
Soon she will hide herself once more, cover herself in her beautiful blanket of white, hiding her pain, hiding our shame.
Durk Simmons 2006
Her beautiful dress floats to the grass, revealing hidden secrets left unseen beneath her cover now left bare.
You can see her scars more clearly, her beauty harder to find without the lush summer makeup, her dresses, her cover.
You can see between the lines now, can see how hard time has been on her, the scars men have left on her, past lovers that in the end raped her, stole from her, then left without a backward glance.
Changing again from Mother to Crone, showing us her scars, showing us her pain in aging, and crying that she needs our love.
Soon she will hide herself once more, cover herself in her beautiful blanket of white, hiding her pain, hiding our shame.
Durk Simmons 2006
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