I wish for all the windigo banished from the Earthly plane.
The mental illness this windigo, of cannibalism
predator of soul, flesh & resources, driving all insane
... that has spread like wildfire with capitalism.
Eating the children of all beings.
No preacher can honestly say
Not ever, then, now or more.
No prophets can light the way
agenda is at their door.
Can the life of Earth and Sea
Hear those words you've said?
Can any being count on we
as they grieve their dead?
No King or Queen of politics
Can save the souls of Trees
Only the heart of Lovers slips
through the branches as breeze.
A sacred chalice, the womb of Earth,
where all of life begins,
to all things she gives birth
and Death reclaims again.
From the roots, a song does rise,
deeply from the grail.
As surely as this house of cards,
ultimately will fail.
Feeding these grass root groups,
the blood of beings you have bled.
Truthful seeds of freedom sown
Upon the bones of the dead.
Sister, oh Sisters find your voice
We are the Mothers and Crone,
we are Earth's song, let's hold hands
to bring our Brothers home.
Like Death & dust, rust & mold & disease
the Earth she will reclaim,
feeding our grass 'roots' groups with ease
Loving yet powerfully we call out her name.
No preacher can honestly say,
not ever, to simply just pray.
No king or Queen of politics
can save the souls of Trees.
Only the hearts of lovers, slips
the Truth through branches as breeze.
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