Begin again, oh warriors of peace. Recall the efforts that speak of love and stewardship, it is love that is tarnished when the earth is spoiled. Humankind’s use has ceased to have meaning. Fouled of beliefs. Rise up and replenish this earth, this sky, this water and give it back to the heart of love… ~ The willow rustles her sleeves and I’m reminded of my grandmother, eyes that sparkled of dark jewels with a story to tell, if only I had remembered the order of her words. I think I’ve had the letters all turned backwards. She told us all the same story, life’s mystery story, but I suppose I heard it quite another way, I didn’t recall her ever having mentioned hell. Shhh… Hush, child. ~ I desecrate love with every drop of my waste that finds its way into the water, the soil and the air. ~ Tunnel forth bright love! Come ashore that your affections might guide me forth from out of the sheen of Greed and into your reassuring arms. © 2012 by mark prime
(The Weaver's Song)