“In the end:” a poem

In the end

In the dream, the lady said

it will happen much faster now.

Not one stone will be left standing on another,

the edifice of illusion

crumbling with a fierce grace.

The dark feminine, that ancient embrace,

allows the dark masculine to collapse

under the weight of its own insanity,

the brittle grasp for power,

the intoxication of anger and fear.

From the ruins of the temple,

with moonlight pouring across the floor,

new life will take root.

In the end all will cry.

All will cry

“Holy.”

–Stuart Higginbotham