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The Song Of Her Journey Poem About Women
Soft footfalls, pitter patter
as her innocence tip-toes
quizzically, through destinies’ course.
She, was I; a world open before her.
A soft skinned maiden.
The winter has not yet settled
In the forever spring within her eyes.
Somewhere the wind whispers,
“open flower, open”.
And the petals caress the elders’ faces
As they smile remembering, the time.
And ah – to be her garden flower.
And ah – to be her guide.
To taste the dew of untainted freedom.
She now finds solace
Within her belly.
The hearth of springtime
The summers end and fall subsides
As a nurturing beacon.
She, was I, who held and swaddled.
Who tends within a garden dear.
A heavier heart clings,
to paths she’s long since left behind.
She is the knowing, earthen mother.
Behind skinned knees and broken wings.
And ah – there is such soft words spoken
And ah – the lullaby she sings.
For fear has left, replaced by reason.
And you, my child, are her reasons why.
And when the winter finds her waiting,
she is I, with weathered hands.
They sometimes call upon her wisdom,
but often naught as summer calls.
And so she waits,
for the warmth of earths’ womb,
to call her back within the chamber.
The sacrifices have been weighted.
The cacophony begins to fade.
The owl looks kindly
on her hardened figure.
Knowing what she’s been asked to carry.
For I am the crone both wise and sad.
I am the sustenance of fruit gone dry.
But Ah – she has grown to replace me.
And Ah – my souls concluded journey.
Laughter fills an emptied belly.
For from Maiden to Mother to Crone –
I have awaited.
This poem highlights the phases in a woman’s' life. It is an esoteric account of a journey kindled by youth, marred by age and yet, in whole, fulfilled. The triple Goddess represents the stages which shape the female. The maiden represents all that is youthful and enchanting. The newness of spring and the innocence which begins our lives. The mother is the nurturing, giver. She is the “tender” of her children’s souls. The mother has learned more and perhaps lost some of the original luster of innocence yet her lullabies are sung as sweet.
The crone perhaps is the most underestimated in modern culture. The elderly are often left behind, dismissed and forgotten. Yet, the crone or hag has much to offer as her long life has granted her wisdom which she so longs to share. The richness of her life is without comparison. The crone, however, waits patiently in the quiet for those who seek her out. She is the end of years; the winter and the death which awaits us all. From these three perspectives we learn the aspects of the feminine. We remember our youth while striving to share the wisdom of our life’s lessons.
Through this introspection of the female, our lives feel relatively connected in the phases of time. Regardless of whether you are a mother of children or a mother of people the phase is still relevant. As a natural law we are born to learn, we nurture, we share and then we die. Let us all hold reverently the beautiful progression our lives take and feel peace in the smallest of which we have to pass on.
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