From the very beginning
she knew her conflict,
pulling on her,
and fleshy in her mind.

Not vague shadows
or concepts ill defined,
but turbulent
and tumultuous
trepidations to bind.
Hers to carry
and hers to align,
already too heavy
a burden too big to confine.

Her solace,

and her condemnation,
the consecration of wine.
Medicine for her
means feet on the ground,
moving mountains intended for the climb.
Meditation and prayer
for peace to find.

Still, not sated or resigned,
never dulling the roar of the cry.
A storm, not a gale,
blackening her sky.
Other hesitations and strife,
made bashful, brittle, dry.
But for these wars
raging inside,
so far, nothing abides.

So she delivers her dissention
to the hands of her tribe.
“Hold fast to the rod to which we subscribe.”
Have Courage, She’s told.
Be strong
and be brave.
Is it courage and faith or eyes closed,
voice crushed for those she might save.

There are lines to be crossed
and hands to be held.
No turning away.
To the edge of her ability.
Fall down.

Rise up.
Each stand finds
new strength in her might,
new strength in her mind.


Come to her heaven.
Where everything’s perfect.
Where we look at each other
with love and abundance,
hope and acceptance.
Arms open,
hearts wide,
each of us perfect.

Completely Divine.

Where we are here to impart all our knowledge
and lose all our lies,
where big hearts get bigger
and there are no divides.
Where open means open
and equality is on all sides.

One thought on “Religion

  1. Pingback: Your Genie is a Carpet Ride Away | Matilda the Moonraker

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