Goddess of Solitude

In the pineforest in the black silence of the night
she stands: her hands are
In her skirt rests the longing of
the lonely
cheeks, eyes, pale lips
white children

On the beach in the grey stillness of dawn
she stands: her eyes are

On her back hangs the pain of
the lonely
wounds and scars, blood that’s spilled

On the stubble field in whispering blue dusk
she stands: her breasts are
straw and clay
Beneath her feet lies the uncertainty of
the lonely
If that ground will be ploughed
no one knows


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