She Cries

She cries because she is ancient.
She worships the moon
listening for lunar whispers
to lead her to forgotten holy ground.

She loves the sun when she laughs
and hides her tears in the rain.

She glides.
She moves.
She exists within the pulse of the Flow.
But then again…
it’s all a Flow
and she knows.

She weeps because she is primitive.
An unheard melody in a civilized symphony of distraction.
While all the big machines and gadgets of the World fight
and the men with big brains and guns destroy,
She accepts.
And they always fail.

The wind still whistles.
The birds still sing.

She cries because she is all that is left of a Radiant Spirit.
And all her children mourn with her.
If she dissipates…
Then so do you…
So do I…
She is Gaia’s perfect creation,
and the comfort of a mother’s caress.
She is whatever it is that will save you.
Look for her
hiding inside the subtle redemption found in dreams.


About Universal Shift

I am the Sonata Unusual. I coat myself with some obtuse angle too far below zero to become any warmer. I create motivation, activate schemas, moisten gardens with scents of natural honeydew. Construct this meaning, you sleepy flock. Silence your singing—despairing contortions out of tune. Shatter the brittle butterfly glass with your hideous wailing. I am born of my god’s imagination. When I die I shall meet him. For there are many things to discuss over tea…or scotch.

Posted on February 16, 2012, in Author, Fiction, Philosophy, poetry, Religion and Spirituality, Spirituality, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. Beautiful. Simply beautiful.

  2. This is amazing. It truly moved me. Your words are like a beautiful love song, singing pure sweetness to my heart.

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