Here
-

Passion and life is percussion;

A drum by threaded angelhair

Fashioned by hands of elders

Where flesh calloused strikes lambskin

And with the tremor that follows,

A crimson cascade

The unborn are roused from slumber

For it is the time to scout their obstacles

And weave tales of triumph into tapestry

Now
-

Gnarled wood does not grow for slaughter

The Daughter of Earth reaches skyward

To suckle, to drink from the giving of Light Mother

Thriving always but emerging at her pace

And her mosaic,

The Kingdom of Children

Rest and raise upon her but do not belong to her

They are the saplings of sustenance,

Fruit of life’s plan for contingency

Always
-

The blossom does not sprout

Without roots clenched deep within soil

Mulch will smother the sapling, aspiring

For limbs greater than itself

But rain that filters through canopy

Sweet from pollen

Let it be your catalyst

That fruit most succulent may grow

And feed the aspiring young of genesis.