It feels like forever my cry, my plea, my love to voice, peace swimming forever and ever into its own, from fledgling innocence to full bore flesh splayed for the world to witness the gravel of graves, the bleached bone and flesh of consumption, the sharp end of the sorrow coming our way, birds flying higher, higher still to simply breathe. The dream’s concluded, now is the time to act. Scream! © 2014 Mark Richard Prime
(The Weaver's Song)