Sitting in Michael's Lap
I am the one who bears uncounted names,
The masks I wear are myriad and wild;
I am the Seeker, tireless, untamed,
Who hurries homeward ev'ry straying child.
I am the Saint, whose eyes in sorrow weep
To see the evil deeds that Men perform;
The Haven found, the proud and peerless Keep
That offers refuge in the fiercest storm.
I am the Bane of Demons, warrior strong,
Dispatching Darkness with my shining blade;
I am the Sage, whose memory is long,
And from my whispered words are legends made.
I am the Scholar, keeper of the Tome
That scribes the tales of all who came before;
I am the Hearth, the spirit of the home
Where all may come, and find an open door.
I am the Healer, she whose gentle hand
Can mend all wounds, and soothe the scars of past;
I am the Rock, whose fortitude shall stand
Inviolate, ‘til Time has breathed his last.
And I am Peace, the still and silent sea
That thwarts the storm of strife with careless calm;
So many masks, and ev'ry one is me –
But those who know them all just call me "Mom."
For all of those who started reading this expecting something else, I apologize. I was struck with a bit of an epiphany today at the hands of my beautiful children, and it ocurred to me how many mothers out there might not realize the sanctity and profundity of the title they bear. I dedicate this poem to these women -- may it serve as a tribute to you and a reminder to those around you.
Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made,
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange...
--William Shakespeare, from The Tempest