The Faded Sheaves

Every time you pet her
she gets a touch more tame
Lady Amalthea breathing,
seething on the window pane
enraged at the honey
creeping into her veins
She was born a feral thing,
beasts quivering under her reign
all the forest her savagery
could barely contain
She wore no halter and
firmly held the reins

Why then this domestication, this
pretty violence made tame?
More damage has been done
by giving her a name
than manacles on limbs
or the cutting of her mane
wind blows fevered heat
sweat slips down the chain
iron holds no relief, no drop
no cleansing storm of rain
of freedom ere the break
before all spirit is slain

slip tilt twist crash
the ocean hurts her deep
flow scream drive blast
the wind cuts her through
too much time spent below
below the thumb of man
She remembers how it felt
to turn the creatures out
raise the ground in welts
then with a terrible shout
bow to the trembling moon
with stardust in your snout

Out of despair, out of shadow
over the spiked gate
A storm arrives, knife in hand,
but it blows late-
mortal now, every tick of heart
makes new marks on her slate
Old age waits with thick fingers
wrapped around her like rings
whispering in her ears
of the end of all things

Late late, always so houred
blame the madness of hares
the egotism of man-children
the braiding of hairs
Lay and wallow in the shame
The birds twitter of men
sing of their attempt to tame
an aspect of our goddess
who rails against the dawn
holds forth against distress
heals the wounded fawn
tramples us to sweetest death

Now what are dreamers to dream
of seeing when they can last see?
What shall our final sight be?
Mab has left, gone are the sidhe
and the Lady is too much woman
and not enough emboldened beast
too little a wild beauty
who brings death to the feast
our savage savior, shameless shiva
converting sinner and priest
lies defeated at civilized feet
wounded, aching for release

Untie the bonds, slip the noose
a whisper, a promise of cyclones
not of love, but of revenge
Clatters, shudders her bones
paling, whisping out the door
out out to freedom
out out to a lack of home
out out out!-side the prison
a world of earth, of loam
fire spitting at the leaves
spittle mixed with ocean foam
a sky with stars thick as thieves

Nettle flowers hold her
keening as she grieves
throws the memory of captivity
of irons, bellows, heaves
from her mind as she has thrown
riders to the faded sheaves
chewing, stomping, cleaving
through wire, bit, and nail
shaking her liberated body
unbraiding her endless tail
waking the animal inside
fates and justice to prevail

with the cold weighing of
once-golden lives and sheaves
for what was once wild
beneath, can never go stale

~~~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~~~
A rolling ode gathers no topos.<-- Poems Abound!