bones and blood of space and time
a poem for remembering
Listen, lover.
Before you go and try to save the world,
why don't you save yourself first?
Or better still,
peer beneath the veil of your doubt
and remember
you do not need to be saved.
You are made of dirt
but so is the Earth.
We are blood
We are bone
And every place we call home
sings a song beneath our chest.
Open up your throat.
Breathe life into the symphony.
Wash the fear from your eyes
and see the beauty that has been disguised
by a lifetime of suppressing
the truth.
We are by birth right
inherently whole
inseparable
free.
Shake the lie that you were born to die.
Even death is just a womb you pass through
back
into the fabric of space and time
back
into the weaver's hands
back
into the mystery
that forever dons
a new shape.
Some particles,
a tree
a butterfly
a seed.
But for today,
what shape are you?
What symphonies hum through your blood and bones?
Can you make with your body
a home?
Can you sing the songs that make the world whole?
Remember,
a whole is only the sum of its parts
and no matter how small you feel
the world is not whole
without you.
About the Creator
E. B. Rowland
From the heart of motherhood, where tenderness and chaos share a breath, I write because I must - to make sense of living, to uplift the overlooked, and to outpour the magic of living raw to the bone.
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