She Who is

She is the goddess. She is the great mother. She is the creator. She is us all. This a poem dedicated to the goddess, the great mother of us all. The one who guides us. The one we cry to when life becomes too much. The one who challenges us to be better. The one who loves us unconditionally.

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She is the breath before the wind,
the hush before the world begins,
the pulse beneath the rising tide,
the shadowed truth we hold inside.

She is the root, the flame, the seed,
the hunger and the hands that feed.
She is the dream the stars once cast
the first, the future, and the past.

With moonlit brow and sunlit spine,
she moves through blood, through leaf, through time.
The mountains bow, the rivers run
to sing her name in unison.

She wears a crown of woven night,
her hair is fire, her gaze is flight.
Her voice is thunder wrapped in rain,
a lullaby that speaks of pain.

Yet also joy, and birth, and bloom
the child who dances in the womb.
She is the ache, the laugh, the scar,
the healing wound, the guiding star.

Not only gentle, not only kind
she storms, she rends, she speaks her mind.
In every woman lives her face,
in every heart, her dwelling place.

So, call her Kali, Isis, Freya,
call her Inanna, Brigid, Gaia.
She is the many and the one,
the hidden thread, the blazing sun.

Beneath her gaze, no soul is small.
She is the Great. She is the All.