Seeds

When seeds of pomegranates shone like rubies
I ran all over the earth
culling each little seed
and gathered the harvest in my fold.
Each seed a mystery, each a cult
a dancing shadow of a lost divinity.
The myths of goddesses and their search
for the rare initiate
to transfer and hold aloft
a secret excavated from earth,
the sun and the moon, the potentates,
blessing the cycles of the mysterious dance
of origination, growth and death.
And the mysterious cycles had no place
for the love and the sorrow coming in the wake.
Goddesses are immune to human fate
of growing from the cell, living, and ending in death.
Starkly unclad by human faith or by the need to procreate,
they carry on by proclivity
their mysterious game of hide and seek,
causing intermittent change of phase
which the humans  see as seasonal change
and ascribe the names of birth, life and death
and with each change, I go back to the ruby seed of the pomegranate
and try to translate the mystery, and fail
because I was deprived of initiation
into the cult of the myth of the divine earth
who awaits the initiate who will hold aloft the secret of the Goddess in his hand
and scatter the seeds right in the heart of the void.