For the Forgotten One

A Poem about the Crone

A cold, windswept beach,
Isolated, deserted,
Rises out of the sea's unfathomable depths,
As the monstrous waves crash,
Unforgiving,
Against it,
Gigantic white horses in the foam,
Rearing up, bucking, nostrils flaring...
It is She who rides such wild fury.
It is She who, although unwilling to tame them,
Lands on the shore safely.
How can we,
Humans,
Ever understand how She captures those reins,
Holds on tight,
And rides with the storm?
Do we have the courage to look into Her eyes
And know ourselves?
And yet despite our fears,
She is the One who takes us into Her arms,
And guides us back when we are gone.
Is She therefore,
One to be loved or cherished?
Not feared?
The Forgotten One knows.
She understands.
To Her, every grain of sand is important.
Yet in the same thought,
They are disposable;
Like fire,
She destroys...
Yet from the destruction rises something new:
The same energy, manifested in a different shape.
She is the One who Turns the Wheel,
But it is not the Wheel of Death,
No...
Instead,
It is the Wheel of Change.
Just as, after each wave has receded from the shore,
The beach has been untimely altered,
And will continue to change...
And just as the beach rose from the incarceration of the multitudinous black seas,
We too will rise again,
From the 'Unknown' that we fear so much.
But we've all been there before...
The Forgotten One is, by now, like a friend.
And a true friend,
When you are lost in the darkness of your fear,
Will pull you out by the hands
And turn you thrice around the face
The Path...