Mother of My Soul

Lilies in July

You are the beauty of the lilies.
You are the beetle in the dung.

You are the fountain of Creation.
You are the fury that destroys.

You are the Summer of all blooming.
You are the Winter’s hardened crust.

You are the healer who brings magic.
You are the wound which will not heal.

You are the tender, gentle lover.
You are the wild, tempestuous ride.

You are the wing which warms your children. 
You are the flinger from the nest.

You are the circle of Compassion.
You are the glinting edge of steel.

You are the weaver of all dreaming.
You are the darkness in the void.

You are the music of the heavens.
You are the silence of the damned.

You are the river coarsing freely.
You are the dam which blocks its path.

You are the hope that’s never-ending.
You are the knowing when to quit.

You are the wisdom of those before you.
You are the innocence of Youth.

You are the steady, even presence.
You are the darting, leaping deer.

You are the mountain’s panorama.
You are the muck in the black hole.

You are the pulsing, vital heartbeat.
You are the squirrel in the road.

You are the Daughter of the Father.
You are the Woman inside his soul.

You are the voice which rings eternal.
You are the waves which speak no words.

You are the truth which holds no secrets.
You are the dagger in the lie.

You are immortal, moonshine, sunlight.
You are death trembling in the dark . . .

LBM 6/30/99

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