Your black heart will rot in your chest
And worms will eat your body;
Your name will be whispered in hushed tones
By mouths too ashamed to give it full voice.

With death comes a release.
No, I do not mean for the dead, but for the living.
The living can love more fully in their memories,

letting pain go.  

Like cream which rises in fresh warm, white milk
The seconds, moments, hours, days, months, years
That was filled with joy rise to the top of our thoughts,

And we have that release of bitterness, pain, anger,
Now settled to the very bottom or are discarded completely.
Thus, it leaves an uncomfortable dissonance.

I carry these memories
- in a golden vessel

For each of you to sup
Take this cup, drink it up

And be imbued with
The sweetness of life & love

Ever dancing, keeping time;
We are born with rhythm,

We were born to rhyme.
We come from the womb

Already much equipped
To just get to it 'n let 'er rip!

Layer upon layer the act of love
Become like the comforting warmth of a bed,
A sheet, a blanket, a comforter on top. Piled high!
Acts of love build within us the very knowledge
That, yes, indeed we are cared for.  We are loved.

If we pick something apart
Can we really love it?
Do we throw out
That part which is picked apart?
Can we really claim love complete
from the start?
If we love, truly love,
The substance of a thing or being
We must love
The ins and outs, the very fabric,
The whole of the thing,
the who of the person.

You seek to go,
up and up.
So, I let you decide.

You go your way,
up and up,
I just watch you,

And enjoy the ride.
Up and up
You strive to new heights.