The herd comes... one hundred miles long and fifty miles wide, the oldest, strongest bulls always running on the outside.  The young bulls run just behind them, protecting the old women of the herd, who in-turn shield the mothers, and then the calves.  And at the very heart of the herd runs the white buffalo.

Back then, a white buffalo came once every 80 years or so, back when millions roamed freely across these lands.

(Now, white buffalo come every year.)

A river of bison, flooding across the land, migrating with the seasons, and each and every one of them dedicated to the protection of their collective young, the herd's future, their living legacy.

A young hunter stands atop a nearby hill, alone he has come to ask for a sacrifice for his family.

His horse is lame, his bow is broken, his arrows are all spent, and the chance of him feeding his family over the long winter have shrived into nothing.

Alone, the white buffalo turns and makes its way through the lines of defense, until it breaches the protective wall the elder males make.

They do not stop him.

Instead, they simply carry on, moving the herd to its winter feeding grounds.  Because each bull knows the dance between themselves and the hunters ensures ALL their children will survive.

The white buffalo walks up to the weary and desperate hunter and lowers its head.

Because the children are our duty to protect.

His sacrifice is no less and no more than the old males who run with the herd. 

And the hunter's valiance is no less, his need (the need of his family) no less important just because he can no longer keep up with the hunt.

Now is the time of the white buffalo.

The time of saving our children and reclaiming respect.


Raena Exe


Namaste

© Raena Exe 2024
*All rights reserved.

Lullaby men sing to us once more
your songs of slumber
and forgetting
that nighttime shedding
of all our woes
that temporary relief
from so much suffering
and grief

if only
you could
sing to us once more
if only your powers could
once again restore

tainted songs tastes twice as bitter
though
when all you're left with
is pain and
glitter

when all your heroes
have died
quite unceremoniously
upon the shitter
those ultimate counterfeiters
who simply forgot
surviving comes at too high a cost
when the lullaby men
have all turned
to frost



X
06/22/2024

© Raena Exe 2024
*All rights reserved.

Do you hear it
the buzzing of the Bees
all along the Watchtowers
while you're crumpled
there
upon  your knees

Take not to worry
take not to fear
for We are the wanderers
you once beckoned
so near

Hear in the night
on this playground
of delight
We the Morning Star
most eagerly
clear your sight

The Watchtower sees
The Watchtower knows
For the Time has come
to make certain
everyone grows

Thirsty, Our charges
when first they arrive
but deep within
they find they finally thrive
on the nectar
buried at the heart
of Our
hive

X
06/21/2024

© Raena Exe 2024
*All rights reserved.

Where We are going there is no room for them, the cake eaters who have feasted upon the bones of our dying and dead.

Instead, where We are going, they will all be vilified, their crimes rectified, their names nullified for an eternity yet to come.

Their children's legacy nothing more than the detritus of evil, left alone to desiccate in the sun.

For they are the phantoms of evil times, times we'd all very much like to forget, but never will.

Instead, We will turn them into the boogeymen our children will learn to fear (the fear mongers, the tear mongers, the indifferent kings who sold their souls for glitter and glitz while millions of children starved - then forced us all to cheer).

'The Victors of Fixed Games', "The Regurgitaters of Scripted Shames', 'The Sellers of Our Names' - We'll call them.

They are 'the purveyors of trash', 'the exploiters of the thrash', 'conveyors of that ever-pervasive rash' - We'll tease.  As our one-time-heroes quickly become our cautionary tales, our commissary wails, our most grim and foreboding fairytales.

Make no mistake, it is no more than they deserve, for they are the ones who rose to the top of a most immoral pile, then tossed stones upon everyone else's head.

Without remorse, without shame, fully knowing the game - they chewed up our dignity, our morals, and our wealth, then spat out aborted families and communities; their only yield - more souls ripe for the picking (raping, pillaging, and plundering).

Therefore, from this moment forth they will be remembered - each and every one - as the ones who had their cake and ate it too - quite willingly - at the expense of me and you.

While we swam against the tide in an endless typhoon they feasted upon gilded yachts. 

You can be sure then; our children will never forget the clots each and every one of them conditioned us to expect.

Our children see.  Our children know. 

Where We are going - the Devil's crew no longer belongs in the show.




Exe
06/20/2024

*Beware the banshee wail.




© Raena Exe 2024
*All rights reserved.

Shackle Breaker
Storm Shaker
Master of Tomorrows
Swallower of Sorrows

You are not your truth.
For you are much larger than even you can deduce.
Now, hear

Bone Dancer
Freedom Lancer
Destiny Romancer
These are your days.
A legacy paved a million different ways.

For all who fall under your gaze
will forever know the sum
of much better days.

For such is the power of your rays
when your heart's in bloom
and love's your only
heirloom.



X
06/20/2024

© Raena Exe 2024
*All rights reserved.

Spring has finally
sprung
half the universe
spun
out into the glow
for that ethereal
show

flowers in bloom
dragging us all
from our stagnating
gloom

A plume
billowing like clouds
lifting all the shrouds
of yesterday's woes
nectar
now dripping
from our fancy little toes

As we spin
out of control
tasting each and every sweet
tempting all the decedent
little beats
as though it'll never end,
this glorious
dividend

Spring has finally sprung
and with it
all the lovers
so fitfully wrung
so fancifully flung

spiraling out into space
pollen
dusting the stars
with tangible memoirs

immortal seeds
shining so brightly
for any and all
to see



X
06/18/2024

© Raena Exe 2024
*All rights reserved.

The hunter dreams a dreaming
of time
that forever kind of rhyme
But We, the sisters seven, hum
that thrum
of Heaven on Earth
begun

The hunter pleads
Their case
an Apollo-gy
an effigy
a systematic
retreat
redirected
thru defeat

Do you recall Our names
Asterope, Tageta, Maia,
Celaeno, Electra, Alcone
and me...
Merope

And do you recall
the game We play
upon the opal flame
the game
of names

Honey and Ice
and everything so nice
as our ancestors sing
that celestial ring
of frost

The making of men
- time and again -
into the duramen
the evermen
our noblest
of brethren

For the Kalyug
has come
to its bitter and unwilling end
its last paragraph
penned

the last of its hymns
opined
like yesterday's
rind
the grind finally over

leaving us all effervescent
and blooming
like clover





X
06/18/2024



Dedicated to:
Aratus of Soli

© Raena Exe 2024
*All rights reserved.