Upon Fertile Ground

Bring me around to peace. Deliver my message toward Love. Cart in my kind’s flaccid limbs. Carry my death-weighted tongue nearest to the depleted peace. Navigate the wobbling orb that she might hold me anon, and, with her love, carry me to weeping, bring me to remember the worship of her. My kind has forgone creation’s gravity and now dangles at the mercy of Love.

Will I make it back from here? Will my mind walk upon fertile land or will I execute the world’s terror with my tall sickles cutting through Love, the unbendable screens flickering an SOS…

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


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