Mater

She, born on the throne,

Of twigs and vines and brush.

Our fundamental queen,

Commands with just a hush.

She, who bore the fruit,

That you pluck from the tree,

Gave her children fur,

That now warms you and not me.

We, born on the Earth,  

Kept her balance alive,

Until you did betray,

The one that let you thrive.

We, of winds n’ soils;

The ones you have undone—

You say you’re a king,

But what crown have you won?

One day she won’t come back:

Her womb will not recover.

Maybe then your eyes will open,

And see me as your brother.