Who is that man standing with love. It is you. And you, and you stand beside love and you and you. They do battle within me! They raise their tears in memory of humankind. I cannot shake their beauty, I cannot hold them near enough for fright of the least in me, to the shame of love. (What’s that you sing now brother? A song for your belief or a song that’s been sung so many times in the books of man. Where is yours? Where is your courage to speak up, to love the earth, the mother, the heart of love and all and everything? ...Leave it be, my child…) But love, I don’t understand why the burden be as if its dreamt, and not lived. Happening and imagined, evident and foggy shores ahead to me if I will not and more… Wait- where was I? (A feint whisper calling across your sorrow like the strings sending forth its quiver.) No. That is not where I was, I was with you. (You are merely waiting on me to know who you are.) And I, waiting to see who you might conjure next, your sweet s
(The Weaver's Song)