If I come into a belief, which is only mine, not theirs, nor yours, but a private diary, and cross the threshold with great passion, will I still believe when the sword’s are drawn? Might grace enter downstage and speak, or will rage stumble on and pierce the air? Might Love’s aria wag her tender tongue, or will she draw her breath from selfish prayer? If I come to faith pleading upon my knees, might I witness humility groveling before me? O! I cannot know! I can only begin my walk… © 2011 by mark prime
(The Weaver's Song)