The deep strawberry moon will slip the horizon,
rising with the pace of our garden,
moving across the span, casement to casement,
a clear sky, full glow, crown and root.
The night-song will tap a thrumming beat
as it seeks our pace without deliberation,
without plan, no calendar for its prayer,
pink to red, a strawberry's breathing color.
In this moon's rise will be the hue of Truth,
a Peace conceived of Love. Dogs howl approval,
hearts wailing the veins of their surface,
I'll plead with the night to summon my speech.
Speak, scribe! Tell them of your journey,
tell them the story of themselves, you've sensed it,
they'll listen when you tell them of its breathing,
the reddening veins of God’s offspring... yearning.
Peace and Love
© 2014 Mark Richard Prime
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