A Poem by Joshua Stelling
The bowstring as a metaphor
For a soul to be released
A feather shed in wind
The shape of a wild eye
A sisterhood of the beast
An arrow as a metaphor
Its ribs against her skin
The mare as if to fly
She rides like a native through a forest on fire
In a night like a sorrow
A storm of ash swirling in the wake
Of this mankind who is blind
She cries like a savage for the souls released
Many ends of tomorrow
The horizon a storm of sand
White lies, justice rise
Don’t fear the hand of time, child
The bear cub as a metaphor
For power in retreat
A new dawn to begin
The shape of a wild eye
The only way to see
The rainstorm is a metaphor
Drinking it all in
Comes mother from the sky
She flies like a fire from an arrow released
In a night like a sorrow
Two storms clash, lightning wakes
Womankind who will find
Crying out like a savage in a forest on fire
For all these ends of tomorrow
And the rain becomes a torrent
To answer this ancestral wish
Don’t fear the hand of time, child
The bowstring is its metaphor
You are the feather, light, wild
You are the arrow, the beast, but more
You are the rainstorm beating back the fire
You are the mother riding into the storm
You are the spirit of the trees untired
You are the voice of the Earth given form
You are the truth in the shape of an eye
Of a bear hidden deep in the brown of the leaves
Bristled fur, risen blood, reflected fire
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