You planted these seeds inside me, living roses living only to rise upwards towards the sun.
Though each reaching outward and moving inward of their own design, both are always moving onwards to go just beyond the reach.
That ever horizon that I’m never touching & yet I find myself, for the first time, never doubting the only purpose I know I have here,
to allow their vineyard spirals to follow each to their end and in tracing their stems,
to wander to this precious b[l]oom time and time again.

In the rapture of the roses always your voice to remind me
...the cold air and cutting wind will wake you in the morning
...and beckon you to light the fire to burn the weeds that kill you
...and when you need it most, the pouring rain will wash away the ashes that you cling to
...and when you understand these tools given in your hand, when you mouth the sound of your b[l]oom
...then the earth will wake and give way to unveil your forgotten garden.

I am following the sound that compels me to smash my fist into the ground,
to lay these b[l]ooms within the soil and let their roots tear the earth asunder,
to crumble mountains & destroy towers with echoes compounded from the thunder of this fist into my centre.
As the echoes come back round and I behold the sound of my roses,
I will remember the only purpose I know I have, that I am here for Love and nothing else.