I tried to hide myself in there wasn’t room under stars, I mounted the sky, but fell below instead, no sanctuary within. Believe in man, though he’s dying. I see an orange streak of failing light, a star flung across the heavens, the growling tummy held hostage, emptiness writing a ransom note. Believe in man! Raise him up! Peace walks the land without legs, war strides without joy, one moves minus hope, the other, flesh to let slip our struggle. I smile upon another and pray to remember. Do the thinning ranks fall short of the seed, the kindness imbued in all things? Might I recall the love I’ve missed or the goodness lodged inside me like a map? I dance on the ground, pray upon the air. Allow me to honor you, to put bread to your lips, my mind to climb the truth of a shared seed, those that are hungry, those fed. Believe! They are waiting for me to choose. © 2010 by mark prime
(The Weaver's Song)