Bedrock

Inside me,
deep,
deep,
you will find only black rock

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borne from the storm
that day
under the shawl
when the raven never left me
as winds tore at my soul,

polished in the heat
of the fire
you set
and ran from.

You will find basalt,
for the agony has
left me
metamorphized,

finally

in peace.

You cannot push me anymore.

You cannot have my blood
and this rock will not roll for you.
You will mire me no longer
and my song will not change

for you

because it is my song,
the one which can be no other,

this song,

my life’s

nectar.

Here springs a flower,

alacritous,

luscious.

It will be tended
by only
me
with all the wisdom I have.

It is no longer open
for your viewing
for its soil
will not be poisoned
by your throes
to avoid

the silent

weeping

of your wounds.

My mind grew keen,
in the forges,
the mastery of my beauty

– you chose not to see –

attained.

This sovereign land,
held strong
in ancient customs
of honor
and
truthfulness,
is closed
to you.

You are not welcome here.

Not because you are bad, but
because your shape will no longer fit
into mine.

I have no need or reason to reach
for a black hole

for my heart is a rock,
a gate,
a flower.

Your door is elsewhere.

– Tasara

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