Gaia

Gaia

At the base of the tree, I sit with her.
I can feel nothing of violence or contempt.
I lounge on her chest; it makes me feel free.
Her soft golden hair is wavy, unkempt.
Her leaf-linked shirt rustles as I shift,
while below, she is only air and light.
Weightless and delicate, as if a drift,
Yet the appearance hides her wooden might.
More then a goddess, she is raw power,
a source of life, of beauty and hope.
Faced with her wrath, one can only cower,
but faced with her serenity she becomes the Pope.
As our love, turns to lust, and two become one,
life begins anew and suddenly we are done.