Not a revelation so I was told

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.