The Middle earth – this holding land,

the indigenous of our tribe,

the people of my heritage,

their medicine

and their myths, where dragons and elves


not only in dreams


as kings fought for their forests,

the land,

the sacred medicine

where beasts and other-worlds live


as one


but those who burnt

at the stake,

and those who

lost their tongues


were silenced,


bloody and burnt –

I sat there,

her at my back stirring my own cauldron,

knowing when the time was right,

they would come

to listen, to know, to receive

the wisdom of the old one,


the witch, the crone


And she – the seer,

through my eyes,

through my songs,

would touch those hearts

and that same medicine

that flows,


now at this time

the time that is right

for the empowerment of her voice

and the worlds of middle-earth

brought back to life

back to the hearts


of our own lineage


For I feel the wounds of my great, great, great grandmothers

and I dig my hands and my roots into their soil,

I sing the songs of those ancestors,

their voice will be freed through mine


and their screams ‘will’ be heard

and their wisdom will be -released


And those who have been forgotten

that flesh – and that bone

in my dreams will – be – remembered

for our ancestors need be sung


if we are meant to heal


And that soul of our humanity,

 as the old one prays,

 will return for sure

in that voice of mystery

mending the betrayal


of our broken ways

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