Mother!

 

A gift, she said 

Of orange and red 

A womb, not a star 

To hold all life 

A pregnant Celestial 

Of fire and fertile.

Hell hath no fury 

As a mother abused 

Her gifts squandered, 

Her soul sorely used. 

A brutal reckoning 

Between man and his sire 

A release of righteous rain 

And dark storm clouds of dire. 

Where would you hide? 

You, of fragile bone and blood

When the earth parts her thighs 

And her innards flood. 

Where would you run? 

From the only home you’ve known. 

More nourishment reaped here 

Than gratitude sown. 

Bow down to her fury 

Her benevolence, her claim 

Kneel to her power 

Lest it be the end of your game.