Both.

A poem about our potential.

The deserts and mountains are bright,

and bold,

but barren.

Life forms in the valleys,

where the sun reaches

what the darkness has made.

But the dark matter,

the dark mother:

this is where seeds are born.

In wombs that hold and constrict.

In oceans and soils and dank festering forests

vast and heavy enough

to swallow us whole.

It is here,

in places so dark

they seem forbidden,

that life begins anew.

We who have birthed

and now turn towards the sun

forget:

it is here

that the miracle of life

gathers

in

abundance.

How strange then that those of us

who have form

and exist because of this darkness

turn our backs on it.

Detest it.