Moon’s Prayer

by Melissa Kummerow

There is a rift between simple olde truths,

and the clever scripts of new.

Truths rife with mystery,

smoky dusty realities we understand in our most archetypal self.

Chiseled and mossy statues that see far into our pasts

and we never asked them to.

Tomes like swords drawing our blood

and somehow we know there is a right and wrong way

to read.

Those olde truths battering against our doors,

yet also never making a sound…

because they know

that we know

that they are waiting on the front stoop for us.

Just waiting.

How can we believe in life after life

and not also see olde truths?

The saints’ prayers like incense filling God’s chambers,

the Woman Crowned in Stars, shining Moon,

holding humanity up for her Child-Creator

to bless,

to keep,

to love,

to hold.

But there is no sudden destination -

it’s within the walk where everything unfurls.

And the walk begins in the long dark.

It begins in the looming shades of mockery from others and self,

It begins at the mouth of devils’ spit - you’ll never make it past, they’ll say.

It begins as the tide, your ride, pulls out.

Moonlight like Prayer

dapples your shoulders, warms your way

in longing sunshine.

The night may be long,

but you will see dawn

soon day.