Trust me, when vengeance finds thee out.
All this shall nothing avail thee with out your trust.
In manhood’s vigor I will bring thee
Safely through those leagues of water
That has magnified the seas and won for thee
The blessing that pledge to save thee.
Your requests of a love that last forever and
Your assault of passion shall come near me
To over take me with a province of its own
Now, as then besiege me with your cries for forgiveness.
Be not afraid to touch the prophet’s bones.
The dead men are wise no more toward the prize
That last forever, neither rich in poverty of livelihood
Nor flush with flesh.
Faith wait for you calmly and lovingly to claim your gift.
Haste all this to your heart surely as dead dreams come from an over wrought brain that fight to make thee insane.
Content thyself with the mercy hard won by poets as protectors of the human spirit and Nature as the one true Godhead of the living and the dead for She surely rule all that can be said by the well fed who fill their heads with the knowledge of the dead.
Be you content with the make of your bone, long shall you live with it and wish you no more to be like that man fair of face or this man rich in coins for all thee are made up of the self that thee carry about like no other.
Nature is thy mother, thy maker, thy provider of substance to feed thy muscle and make thee mindful of the working of the Gods, have none before her she is the knowable deity before your eyes, easy to spy, thou can not separate thy self from the bold bounty of her body for all there is to be known is by her precept.
