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