To each of you, I offer my hand. To each of you, I offer this vow- I will love you as equals, to each of you, a brother, a sister, to me, a family. I’m humbled by you. I’m a mere servant to the deadened flesh and pure worship of the soul, the spirit. To each of you, I give my love that it might, from you, begin to touch the world. To each of you, Love. I offer the fullness of my affection for my brothers and sisters all. To each of you, I offer. Let us come nearer the visage. Let us ride upon it and startle the horses- The crinkled face of death rears its tiredness like one might recall the death of a child. There is no death in this child. I did away with death. I climbed the vine to freedom. There is no death in this child. Mortality’s face sags with the tiredness that accompanies the agony of so many children. © 2011 by mark prime
(The Weaver's Song)