CREATION’S CHANT     [Stefanie Bennett]

 

 

Do not wake me from

This dream. Do not

Stir the pyre

Or disturb one stone.

The wildflowers are

In abundance

And the hills serene

With their own dreaming.

 

Whether it be noon

Or night’s haven,

The opposites console

And walk

A skyway fit for

The evolution of mammalia,

And winged chariots

Of soft gold.

 

To my right

The marshlands murmur

Legendary

Music of birch flute

And drumming.

To my left, a desert

As bountiful and clear

As permanent spring...

 

In the distance,

Wise spirits ritualise

The song and dance

Of the everlasting.

Behind me

A fearless rainbow

Bends to kiss

The sacred ground.

 

Do not wake me from

This dream.

Do not tamper

With what quietude

Remains

In which

We live and die.

Do not wake me yet –.

I am ‘not ready’

To face

           My

Too human