Should our nimble internal Crone become increasingly nervous?
Of outrighlty bold behavior of being deceitful and frivolous
No concern with lives of the Veiled or a First Born
Not an anxiety or fear seems to exist of immaterial scorn
And what of the divine spirit of all life?
Being crushed and extinguished with strife
It overwhelms and spills out in dismal streaks
Tears of grief flowing down our mother Gaia's cheeks
Perhaps it is the in between time of our communal travel?
The medium in which time and perceived realities unravel
Wrought with hostilities and intangible ambiguity
Lacking common respect or any notion of responsibility
And yet so clearly an opportunity for renewal and growth
A sacred cycle of demise and creation primed to spout forth
Like Springtime meets the GreenMan and balance is restored
Free to cultivate hope and sprout into flights unexplored
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