The recent 6.9 magnitude earthquake that rocked my island home brought this one to mind.
From deep inside the belly of the earth
She explodes, shaking the ground and all its
Inhabitants for miles around. Buildings
Fall before her, giant trees bend low, some
Break: the ocean at times answers her call
And swells until he crashes on the shore.
It matters not that lives are lost, that towns
And villages disappear; she knows no
Mercy, feels no compassion, and in a
Few seconds, her destruction complete, she
Recedes, dying away as if nothing
Had ever happened; but those who have known
Her wrath and have lived to tell the tale will
Speak of her in hushed tones for years to come.
Lying on her bed of magma She tosses and turns,
visions of a million scurrying creatures
running through her dreaming mind,
their cries of anguish making her whimper and moan.
She dreams she is in some way responsible
but is powerless to resist the heavy chains
of sleep and unconsciousness that bind her…
how could She, the universal Mother and Matrix,
be the instrument of so much suffering?
Tortured by the stirrings of some distant future prescience
she strives to restrain her pent-up energies
yet the more she does so the stronger they become
until some small ‘insignificant’ event
– the light brush of some butterfly’s wing
or the gradual build-up of slippage between tectonic plates,
triggers a fatal reaction and her ravenous darkness escapes her
in a flood of thunder and force,
oblivious of the violence of her climax
and the devastation it will cause.
She does only what nature demands of
Her; her actions are never preconceived,
But the damage left in her aftermath
Is felt for years to come by her victims,
Survivors who lose family and friends:
Countries reeling from the violence of
Her onslaught take decades to recover,
Waiting with bated breath in case she strikes
Again. Meanwhile she may well slip into
A deep sleep, exhausted by her outburst
Or if still not sated, she may be moved
To return, level whatever has dared to remain
Standing, before she returns to her place
Of rest, to slumber for a hundred years
Perhaps, or until she is roused again.
Dreams, dreams, a thousand dreams:
limestone dreams of verdant forest
dappled in emerald and gold
quartz and silica dream of roses and honeysuckle.
In her dreams a peaceful people
move across the face of the earth, Her Earth,
singing Her Name and praising Her beauty:
men, women and children wearing the faces of Seraphim,
caretakers of an idyllic world full of beasts,
plants, stones and elements
all slowly awakening to sentience…
Yet even as She dreams, unresolved chaos
is slowly battling with hopeful light,
chimeras and monsters give birth to natural disasters,
not only in the bosom and womb of Nature
but in the hearts and minds of men:
greed and fear gestate war,
Lilith’s nightmare brood scour the land
drinking blood and souls.
How long, how long, before the dawn
and Creation can begin at last?