Death, not being the end

Higher! O! Higher still! Up, up and away! Dampen my Love, but do not wash it out or measure its depth, for I am afraid these, my words, might miss their mark. Come muse! Flow tenderly over my worship, not as a foul curse, but a curving stream with my heart and death between.

The price was steep for all. Death, not being the end, has been held nearest my decay, nearest my trust in imagination.

The hunt’s been on for Love. Fears most-wanted poster seeking out a most-wanted certainty that, in my aim, will dearly pay.

© 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark and Michelle Prime


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