Drop this bomb on my kind's gods, for, like the wind raging now, I'll settle my pledge, brightening The Creator’s gift one last time for my amusement. If I dream an escape from fault or in error of my loudness kept, is it not my closing reverie, it's everything I've made folded away by my thinking?
I exhale with howls upon a human-fouled Eden and hold in my hand the truth of Love’s creation. Oh! How bent are the days with my hardened kindness denying the eartH and sky!
Might I rescue Love from disgrace, or is this eternal dream of hereafter my termination?
© 2010 by mark prime