The New World

In a small Bavarian town,

At the base of a dream and the Alps,

The Old World order prevailed—

The poor bent low in fields—travailed,

Soldiers fighting on fronts—impaled.

The debtor and drunkard—condemned and jailed.

Lofty towers—impossible to scale.

The hierarchies of society—

They were built to fail.

Daily, my mother and I worked the plow,

Collected eggs from the chickens,

And gathered milk from the cow.

Every Sunday we assembled our goods and wares,

And walked into town—

Enduring the stares.

At the edge of the market,

We set up our stall,

Peddling trinkets and food stores—

There was nothing too small.

One Sunday,

Entering town,

We heard the commotion—

And that’s when the dream began in slow motion.

In the town square,

Crowds had gathered round—

Yelling and screaming—

“That bitch who dares to show her face—

You witch, who dares the Lord disgrace…”

Ducking my way through the growing throng,

I finally broke through to the inner rung.

Before me stood the old infamous crone—

It was she who lived in the valley beyond—

Occasionally, on the wind,

You could hear her song.

Her robe was white,

Though smeared with scorn—

Her skin glowed softly,

Though it was tarnished with grime.

To question the Order—

That was her crime.

Looking around, her eyes met with mine—

And in an instant, I knew she was divine.

Gathering water by the well, she paused—

And then at last, she began to speak.

She foretold the future—

A tragedy, bleak.

Long have you all cast me aside,

For by your rules, I could not abide.

An unmarried woman—I was no one’s bride.

I was a healer, but using strange herbs implied

That I was a witch, with the Devil allied—

But you never sought to know me—

And so, with time, you forced me to hide.

I am more than a woman who stands before you—

I am the generations of pain buried in your past—

I am the oppression of the weak, the lowly caste—

I am the anger and rage from abused people—amassed—

I am the Liberator from Injustice whose reign is vast.

Hear me now as the full moon rises,

See me in the light—all of my guises.

I am Beggar and Giver, Chaos and Order,

Change and Permanence, Wrath and Compassion,

I am all that was and all that is—

For I am the Defender, and I am the Destroyer—

Some things must die to be transformed,

I am not the first—

You have been warned.

Before tomorrow’s dawn brings new light,

You be my witness, here in plain sight,

I call forth the angels—

Their power I incite—

Extinguish this village—

With all heaven’s might.

Call down the mountain—

May all be made right.

Who was this witch who cursed the night?

They snatched her staff and cuffed her hands—

Their faces distorted—wild and unmanned.

Though bound and gagged—

Still, she spake,

Summoning the seraphs:

May the world, they forsake.

Quickly my mother pulled my hand

And back we scurried to our pastured land.

On the edge of town,

As we entered the wood,

We felt the earth then start to rumble.

Was it a dream or was it real?

Turning back, we saw the mountain tumble—

Crushing the church, the courthouse, the school,

The town hall, the market—all now crumbled.

When the trembling earth at last grew still,

We heard the cries of lament—so shrill.

The smoke of the village clung to the air,

Ash on the wind—

Loss—everywhere.

In silence,

We walked back home under the moon,

Hearing the song of sorrow—

Its mournful tune.

Then in the dream, like a growing oak,

Our humble shack began to cloak

Itself in stone, in arches tall,

And a cloister arose where once no walls had been at all.

As we approached the monastery doors,

The gatekeeper moved and stepped aside,

He let my mother proceed inside—

Then placing his hand upon my chest—

He broke my stride.

You, my child, your story is not done—

You have seen the pain of the world now gone.

Before you cross the realms through this door,

For you, there is still something more.

You must go—

Go and heal the world—

Release the wounds from a time before—

Grace—

For yourself, your neighbor—

And even your enemy, whom you abhor.

Mankind was born into a lineage of hate

Tragedies and traumas—unresolved, perpetuate.

So, stop the injustice—

The revenge of generations—

Forgive one another—

Wipe blank the slate.

Envision the possibilities of what could be—

Inconceivable—

Inspired—

A land of reverie—

There are no rules—

It’s your dream to narrate—

The New World that you

And all the others will create.

Imagine a table long, without end—

Built into the stars, watch it ascend—

Invite every soul—

It’s never too late—

A seat for all—

Food on every plate.

Wait for every soul to come,

Knowing the journey will be long for some—

But healing requires the collective sum.

So, wait.

For those who are lost—

For those who roam—

Go wander—join them—

Accompany them home.