( To Make Mankind Great Again, Push to Mars (?)) I had a dream that love was dead. The earth’s face was caked in dirt, eyes oozed a brown fluid, green puss seeped from the ground and countless wooden stakes were driven through the heart. The ashen face was too much to comprehend, the suffering, too great to fathom, too dreadful to dream. What had I done? Had I truly murdered, assassinated the whole of love? I called out to love, I shrieked to the heavens, but love’s eyes remained vacant, stilled by death, sunken from murder, emptied of life. I felt the tears flooding my face as I howled a solemn prayer for love to breathe once again. Do not forsake me, your child, do not fade from my foul use! Wake up! Wake up! I shuddered from the silence, death had at last found its way into love. I awoke drenched in sweat. The morning light poured through the window. I thought, if love was dead, to whom was I praying? © 2011 by mark prime
(The Weaver's Song)