Grainy

I found a holy grail of grasses

blowing in the wind,

paying no mind to the powerplay

of lines and mind games above

our grainy heads.

Wholesome and free,

there is no mystery hidden

in the haunted spaces

between ears,

ours or theirs.

Enter from any direction,

as the skies do.

You can find it all inside.

The answers are easy to collect,

provided love is the point.

It’s not moot.

It’s not mute.

Loot me for more,

your reward.

Even if they trademark

the elemental ingredients,

they’ll never be as rich

as the blood-soaked soil;

here in truth, the proof.

On Tradition

Aus Gott wird man gebor'n, in Christo stirbet man. //////////////// Und in dem heil'gen Geist fängt man zu leben an.

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