Romancing the Stone

Romancing the Stone

The voice of the mountain is calling my name;
I see her in the shadows, She is glad that I came.

The rain on her body refreshes her claim,
She lies bare on the mountain, without any shame.

Her voice is the waters and the wind in the trees,
She makes her heart known, through the rustling of leaves.

She bares her breasts to the God of the sky,
At the sight of her sorrow, the rains fall from His cry.

Her breathing is felt in the earth all around,
And my bare-feet can feel her sighs underground.

Once worshiped and loved by all, far and near,
She’s long been forgotten by those with no fear.

Her heart, once radiant and so proud on its own,
Has sunken below and become fiery brimstone.

Her wrath is her justice, her patience wears thin,
She’s biding and waiting, and writhing within.

She is the dear mother and soul of this earth,
The life giving breath, who judges all worth.

Now battered and torn, from pollution and rape,
She no longer resembles her original shape.

Revered no more, as the universe’s planet of choice,
She is now on her death bed without so much as her voice.

She is bound and tied in chains of neglect and denial
And the people who have denied her, all soon must stand trial.

The generations of man, for 200 or so years,
Have been wounding their mother, without any tears.

The ages of industry and technology make life fun,
Without your mother’s approval, it will all be undone.

Her voice is constant, her vigilance never ceased,
its the crying voice of reason, for men to be deceased.

I’m “the unloyal brother”, I’ve heard you all say,
I ‘m a warrior for Mother Earth, until my dying day.

The land is a curse and an unwelcoming face,
To all who would say “of proof, there’s no trace.”

You think you’ve conquered Earth, and may do as you please…
But the Earth has a will, and you’ll be brought to your knees.

You dwell on the earth, but have given no praise,
Thus you and your kin, the Great Spirit will raze.

You take and you take, and you think its all yours,
But all that you are is cankerous sores.

The spirit, now ensnared and oppressed,
Will soon be set free, from the East to the West.

If you turn off your TV, and your mobile phone too,
And go out and listen to what she’s telling you…

And if you are careful, and worthy, and open your heart,
And pledge to her your love, swearing never to part;

And in her solitary confinement, if you should help ease her pain,
and keep her being always, at the forefront of your brain…

you’ll find, then, at last, you’ve found your true mother,
and never again, shall you preference another.


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