Beth Grace Farr

Grass, trees, sky
The soft tongue of natures being laps warmth onto skin marred with markings of summers before
We sit, solitude as ever but humble in her presence
Are we ever alone, as the wind courses through, snaking its way into every strand of hair, bellowing this way and that, leaving soft kisses on cheeks?

Liberty, freedom, prison
She controls me,
She controls you
Words are simply not enough to break her, her grandeur too great to fathom.
Her silent rage bites at those who do not bow down, who disrespect her power.
Have you heard her whispers in the night?
Those that echo through her body, reverberating over and over and over
Begging, wanting, needing, someone to listen
To respond to her cry for help.

Delicate, fragile, broken
She replicates those who sit on her throne
We replace our Queen
We believe we are better
Knowing we should bow down
Rebelling something that feels so right.
But can we?
Can we submit to something so obviously greater than we are?

Care to lay with your mother for a while?
To relax into her embrace as she sings you to your slumber
For her to rock you out of her place.
Wake up.
Realise you were wrong
And for what?
The greedy world screams, aching with the knowledge of effort bereft of reward
The answer is simple.
For the peace of another day.

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