Love, there is no need for vengeance worn on your sleeve, more like a tomb of regret carried out by the sword. The weight is too great, my dear affection, let it go instead, and walk with Me. Live Love Laugh (Who said anything about vengeance? I'm avenging nothing, I'm setting you free of your own shackles.) Yes. And while I am certainly most grateful, I am already free. (Yes, but this is the echo of your being set free, you've been set free long ago now.) I weep. (Why? Make it your own, etch it into the face of the stars, these elusive things that we gape at in wonder or never even consider them in the least, much like what we do with what's beneath our feet. All of this miraculous wonder and we're devolving into a dismal beast, that's sorrowful. Live Love Laugh, Peace © 2016 Mark Richard Prime
(The Weaver's Song)