Hold Me

I have no ears

for the mocking conquerors.

I filter through the sneers

parceled out by the brainwashed

afraid to die.

I’m listening to the reports

of the brave, the anguished,

impoverished, imprisoned,

excluded, tiny bleats

of the oppressed, hushed

whispers repressed,

the silenced.

They live in me.

I feel them pulsing and so

I dig through the roots

grown in colonized soil.

Carefully lifting each traumatized

artifact, trembling,


into the space of sacred.

Opening the container

until I can hold

what I carry.

And I see 

finally in the open air

sending it all down

down into Gaia’s embrace.

Her joyful acceptance of my gift


as she transforms my difficulty

what I call toxic

into pure fuel

and releases it back into my flow.

Renovated from certain death,

glistening in the new air

the fine webs of our connection,

like slender fibers streaming

from my nervous system

joined with yours

— all this time! —

stretching into the cosmos

like the ancestral constellations

glimmering in our darkness

singing through our bleeding

hearts, as we feed each other

at last with conscious intent.

True love dripping

from our lips,

the pools of our eyes,

the very breath we exhale

As we drop deeper into ourselves.


Inspired by Repress, Renovate, Parcel,  and Die.

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

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