seed bomb

He comes on like rain.  He sends strings of tears down my face.  When he is near, his voice breaks my consciousness and sends me into the shock of being alive.  These are resurrected words on a Saturday morning.  No one took me to mass, I walked there alone.  The trees are silent emissaries.  Today they tell me the doors are open.  I don't have to stay away anymore.  I can walk into woodland worship and be at home.  I can sit and meditate on that.  No more sparks in the dark.  No dreams of Roman coliseums and romance.  We shift from dirty death to lacey frills in a heartbeat.  If only my rain-wet hero was a long haired rugged Roman.  We dream in hieroglyphs.  Why is Maximus there?  He's on his way to die in Rome and I'm still hanging out in the Temple of Bel.   I'm waiting for some vines to deliver up the Greek god.  It is all in a dream.  You can be the perspective.  No matter what perspective you dream up.  I went to get fed when Tori rocked the Tower.  When green was in and I was young.  I had friends.  Imagine that!  I just want to walk out into a large garden.  Tell the troubles to get out of the way.  I'd love to walk into rows of herbs and flowers.  Tangled morning glories.  I don't belong here, no way!  We've shaved off some moon glow to be a slim slice of life.  It dangles in the sky tonight.  Each night, more moonlight, gone.  Until we are dark again.  I'm not ready for a darkened moon.  I'm not ready for dark nights.  Bring on the rain and sun.  Bring on the pain.  Bring Spring so birds can come visit.  Perhaps I'll draw him a map.  Here is my heart.  Here it is.  I live on the brink of the forest in a small home.  I toil with mint and flowers.  I grow sage.  Here it is, my heart.  It beats one small beat at a time.  It hopes for small things to grow.