I saw a volcano in the far north,
In my mind\'s eyes
and it did not feel like a dream .
It felt real.
Like a words of wisdom passed down
through generations of ash.
Like a gift from the mother.
It lay buried in silence,
but silence is only what we call it
when we are too afraid
to name the waiting.
The one that will end all when called.
The snow cove red its face
like a sheet over the dead,
and beneath that white mercy
something ancient kept breathing
with the patience of ruin. Like a body that refused to die.
I stood there and understood
that some things are not meant to be saved.
They are meant to endure
until endurance becomes another word for suffering.
The ground was cold,
but not innocent.
It held its grief close,
tight as a fist,
and every crack in the ice
looked like the beginning of a confession
no one would survive hearing.
In my dreams I was told
as I stood listening,
that the great mother earth is waking up,
and when she opens her eyes
there will be no mercy in the light,
And no mercy in the dark.
There was no revelation,
only the slow certainty
that the world can keep a secret forever
and still destroy you with it.
Mother Earth has her ways to protect herself something unseen by man.
So I remained there,
small against the buried fire,
listening to the dark
as it learned my name
and I was told to forget hers.
As I learned more than most will ever do listening to the mother Earth as she teaches those who choose to listen carefully.
First I want everybody I managed to write this like I was being told to write it and I have no explanation. Like as if I had written it a hundred times and for poets that\'s impossible.