It’s His World Now, But It Used to be Theirs

He and She both threw spears

When they were young.

fragile bows of wood

Flying straight to the heart,

killing no more than they ate.

And their nightly thanks greeted the sky

Like an everlasting spark. 

They lived in comfy caves, shallow brooks,

With stories, love, and endless time.

But as the world grew-

As they did too-

He unearthed sharper weapons-

Much too sharp, She would say,

When He tore up the ground

Uncovering glittering rocks better left unseen.

But She too was at fault,

Her journey to the forest-

For remedial plants and leaves,

Had unraveled into sloth and chaos. 

The medicine She found

Rapidly becoming a wild drug.

And her desire to expand their world

Melting with the sun.

He alone made fires and walls,

Sparkling cities, and violent war,

Cages- of words, weapons, and thoughts.

His will and way were forged with steel.

He was only metal, She could tell,

When, despising Her lively laugh and untamed zeal, 

He dragged her over roots and rocks,

Through the vibrant river,

And finally to her own gilded prison.

So She was thrown onto the sharp crystals, 

Forced to dress like him and

eat his food and live his way. 

And it is still His world in which She lives:

Denied her sacred plants and trees,

Forced to be a fantasy. 

But still She knows that the forest remains,

That it may well be Her world too someday.