Patchworks of a proud Legacy

FearlessHardworkerHuntressMaternallyPowerfulProtectressProudlyProwledRegally.

Lettyca once was young and proud as she walked the human jungle. Her head was steadfast held, her curves voluptuous, legs shapely and strong, her back a ramrod perfect reach towards the sky, as she flaunted youth as her god-blessed pleasurable luxury spa.

She was woman. Born to roar!

Where skyscrapers ogled the sky and the streets yelled and hummed, she ruled...proud, young and free as she marched headlong to the rhythm of the concrete jungle...graceful and untamed.

Lettyca's mane was a cascade of jet-black curls, her sheathed exoskeleton a chocolaty-sandy fawn. Her eyes, sharp and ebony- amber, reflected as pools of pure water. She strode gracefully, the regal saunter of her presence a command for respect and reverence. The human world became a place where Lettyca faced challenges that tested her strength and constancy always.

The land was a jungle where everyone hunted and craved after flesh, wealth and fame, the people were a herd and moved as one ethereal body, yet each yearned towards that owned path and purpose. Lettyca had to learn the ways of the new jungle, to blend her nature to the human world's complex network of subtle playbooks.

Every early morn, she would embrace the sun, as her heartbeat resolutely beat the rhythm of the All. She prowled, worked endlessly, her claws sharp as a metaphor as she detested the corporate ladder. Her colleagues often overlooked her, her stealth an appearance of arrogance. But Lettyca knew her strength, the flames of her ancestors and the power she held of a legacy and knowledge of her forefathers who bled so she could roar.

She remembers well her father's agony as he spoke of those gone before and the regrets of the past where he once dwelled. How he had bawled as a newborn babe that shouts a mewl to songs for warm-heartedness of the sky queens of care and soft embraces.

Father

How her father lamented the God-blessed peace we plastered as wars across a canvas created for love... our fury and decay breakwaters for storms we erected on greed...power hungry we ravaged, burned and broke the backs of oxen to the yoke...

Frescoes faded before the wane of sun...dew's mold became the lover of her dark spaces...corrupt are the slathered creatures who come out to play when darkness descends and cankerous rot thus atrophy and putrefy the peaceful approach of would-be sleep and rest...

Darkness' burdened womb laments the evolve of 1st man and bemoans the advent of the last man...a man who would thus put an end to her scarred eyes that constantly behold men's descent to hell... A maelstrom of deadly purgatory flames\ that cannot shatter the cold caverns and mazes that are the human heart places.

Oh! How we crave eternal calm between the pressures of peace, and for God's sake, let there be no more wars. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mother

Her mother, on the other hand, saw God's strong hands through all the purgatory blaze, her breast swelled proudly, lovely arms outstretched to offer comfort and succor to the weary. For before youth towered, she knew truths, saw them through eyes beyond where shadows dwell and goodness begged to be embraced.

Mother saw our souls as flawless crystals ready to be harnessed, and allows beauty to beckon from the place where rapture wraps youth to shrouded gladness. They dwell content by a cool amber-blue pool where tenants are always welcome as they gaze from a hotel balcony made of brass and bronze.

They pour strange booze to purple crystal glasses as bacchanal carousal and debauchery play a jamboree of celebrated glee.

Yet, what of the holy men, nun, pastor, shaman and congregates who stand by and watch smugly, who then try to woo youth to the bow of heads ever so prayerful for the ransom of young souls. Youth wonder and fears the secrets of those who profess holy charlatan parlor ruses and stratagems.

They have forgotten that these are sacred places where one should leave no trace of any marks upon the blessed walls and spaces.

Mother remembers well when the old ones fought for freedom's sake, when they were starved, beaten, hanged and forced to bend the backs to yoke and lash. When angels and archangels wept but lent not a hand to quell the yoke and burden of her people. The world marched on as we suffered. So we planned and plotted to eke out blood by blood for our freedom.

We found energy from the world's beat to drums of blackened hearts, though the world flamed, we would overcome.

Graves are now marked by weeds and trees, long enveloped by forests. The long-forgotten bones have been returned to earth as ashes to ashes and dust to dust, as marks the lot of us all.

Sleep all, sleep beneath the roots of age-old trees as you forge a new path for the newly wrought youthful headlong course. For under the forested canopy we shall march for hours, to celebrate the sweet remembrance and newfound freedom, here we enjoy the sweetest place to sleep and rest. Below the earth, the mole-kept secrets dwell, enfolded by arms of peace and rest.

The green grass glory for nature reborn above the gladsome yesterdays and celebrate the sweat of slaves now reposed as joyous melody and breath upon the breeze.

We are all created as brothers, women folks, mothers, fathers, lovers, and foes. Holy angels forever hover for all who possess eyes to see.

Adore the early sun's rays above majesty regal valleys and vales, those who yet possess nature's love of beauty. Surrender the greatest parts of you to the splendor and majesty of the god-self you were born to be.

Though our souls be breached, laugh though the broad daggers spelunk for blood and robbers storm the castle walls. Through the broken ramparts they see us appear to sleep. Let them come...we are fully prepared for battle.

Through the screams of men and bugles, broken walled exposed rose-petaled beds of naked damsels and errant mates, we battle to the death.

We thought the untroubled and eternal God cared not for our blackened souls.

Yet when we most needed that godly hand: we long after found that blessed hand had always been there!

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Lettyca closes her eyes and remembers her youth, how fearlessly she had fought and how proud she now reposes as her memory takes her back to where all had begun. Wonder and beauty shone, wrapped up so very courageously, though fearfully, along moments of strength.

She breathes a sultry prayer for those gone before.

Her peace now flows through a stream from where she blesses others and encourages the softness to be found to abound amongst joyful love one to another.

The petulant patchwork of human convergence marches on to the beat of echoed remembrances.

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