My Mother, My Cradle, My Tomb

Mother I know thee not
Called forth from infinite womb
Nurtured in hostile cradle
I am of thee, yet estranged
An intruder trapped in a once familiar dream
Able to touch but unable to feel

The moon cries out to me
Before her council of reverent trees
This sacred grove, unchanged by time
Where grasping branches groan and bind
And whisper secrets into the night
Atavistic thread through Earth, flesh and sky
Ancient language long lost in time
Forgotten, familiar words fall without form
Like shapeless silhouettes slip between standing stones
What was, is and shall be
Lost on the wind and out of reach