~ Before She Knew She Had Wings ~

She was told to do things accurately.
To think of others before herself to give to family and
friends, foremost. To comply, surrender and above all, be
obedient to look the other way, accept, don’t go against
the grain. She was told to be silent again and again before
she had wings.

She was taught boys were always valid girls were timid and
weak. She was taught to suppress desires, wants and needs
and not to speak of dreams.  She was taught power was
something to fear - but not to have she was taught to
use her body not her brain before she had wings.

She couldn't imagine she would climb any obstacle or her
thoughts were substantial that she would rise above poverty
refuse abuse and say No. She couldn't imagine she would be
desired or needed or know just how far she would go she
couldn't imagine her wings were just tucked, absent from
sight before she knew she had wings

She wouldn't realize this disguise until mid-life. She took
flight, feather-light, gliding high soared beyond gender
indoctrination she sailed past everyone’s expectations she
un-earthed her majestic conception, unveiled her wings,
her spirit serenely flies.

© 1997 Schar CBear
 

~ Silence ~

The sound of silence comes from within.
It allows you to hear the impossible.
If you listen for the sounds of silence.

The sounds of the snowflakes as they fall
in lacy elegance from the heavens.
They do a special dance In rhythm
As they touch down on Mother Earth.

The sounds of the stars that twinkle in the night--
Listen... you can hear them moving delicately
out in space, sliding and gliding each taking its place.

The silent growth sounds of the tree as you
sit in quietude listening to its life sounds.
The bark cracks and the leaves thunder as you ponder its beauty.

The melodious sounds of whe wind as it glides with the greatest of ease
through my hair as it travels to the pasture and beyond.

The quiet silence of a tender raindrop as it falls into place.
It splashes across my face and I hear trickling sounds as it runs away.

The magical sounds you hear from within seem to demand their own galaxy.
Your heart beats, your blood rushes in silent splendor through the veins.

I love the quiet delicate sounds of silence
I hear when I close my eyes and hear the memories
tip-toe across my mind in silence.

January 30, 1998
~MomFeather~

~ Graphic by AngelRick5@aol.com ~
~

The American Indian is of the soil, whether it be the region of the
forests, plains, pueblos, or mesas. He fits into the landscape, for the
land that fashioned the continent also fashioned the man for his
surroundings. He once grew as naturally as the wild sunflowers;
he belongs just as the buffalo belongs...

Luther Standing Bear
(1868?-1939) Oglala Sioux chief