i stand knee deep in burning coals
waist high in bombs bursting light
eyes filled with poisonous gas
ears to the crackling wind
i kneel deep in daisy filled garden
soft breeze caressing my face
tear drops coursing the river
bird song in my ear
i lie on the ground hugging
hold on least i fall further
than i can remember being
down in the deep deep well
i turn to face my Maker
i cry, "O Maker, face me!"
give me just one reason,
or take this cup."
the crackling wind is silent
the air is sweet & pure
i see a tree in the garden
it burns but does not die
"My child, & you are my child
My love, and you are my love
You are the seed of the burning
Tree, and you and I are one."
. . . . .
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