The cello, violin and piano and drums and the voices of peace have climbed their way into my spirit. They are giving me my breath and I am returning the favor, sustaining love, leaving them breath. Come. The wind grows bitter, another substandard performance, and the traffic sounds angry, noise and anger raging along man’s web. The towering metal beasts formed of your greed and lust and murderous march shine no light on where you are, they dull the fabric of truth and leave you only to imagine as true that which you cannot know. When did my bravery begin to take the reins out of my fear’s grip? Last night. Don’t you remember? Oh. Yes. You are forgiven, now give love cause to smile upon you… © 2012 by mark prime
(The Weaver's Song)