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My Mother, My Cradle, My Tomb

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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