#nothiding

One day,

after the countless retellings under the turn of the stars and the unfathomable winds of time and space,

beneath the venerable oaks,

(because the tale is always being told)

the Lady will rise from the lake,

and wield the sword herself,

high above her head,

arm stretched and strong,

and she will say -

no,

this I do not give.

Never again.

Countless times you have come to me and I have gifted you this which is priceless.

(oh the making of it, I still feel that in my bones,

my sisters,

we all bled our power to make this treasure)

In that moment, drapped in bright glory, your blood running hot and wild,

you claim this,

thinking you own it.

You claim it without seeing it as the gift it is,

a promise made to the future,

through you.

We had hope.

The stars moved through the sky and showed us there was hope.

We threw the bones of small creatures long dead,

and sat in the silent places listening for the Gods.

We had hope.

You failed us,

each time, each telling.

It is your nature to do so.

But we cannot,

We cannot anymore cast out hope into the world of men.

And a king is still a man.

This power must come back to its womb, and I will rise.

I will rise from the lake and use this thing that was made to bring peace,

to stop the blood and the hate.

How did you not see, it was never a weapon, but a tool to heal.

Karen Stone

11/1/26