Song 15 Everything tugs on heart strings, Neither note nor silence misses its mark. The welts sting leaves dangling, Demanding passion's attention to fire. Desperate metaphors haunt the void Left by burning kindnesses. Marrying Heat horrors words into exploding rage. Lifetime's miasma on ways of the heart. The burns sandpaper all I say and do To change the nature of the instrument. Seamless heart's never fathomable healing Leaves love's aches as meander weaves That unwinds any self acclaimed brocades Into shattered bones scattering any hope For hope but to cut the strings. Then what? Territory of the damned or ice age Of the longest history. Or puppets end In primordial soup whose ingredients, Somehow, beckon and threaten simultaneously While making life out of its unnerving broth That continuously remakes and nourishes. *** Give succor to those I care for and adore. Friends and loved ones in desert times, In mountain times, and in river times, I let play me as they will. The thrill of it all. Imagine rolls with empty eyes as walking stick. I let what comes, come. If it is never enough, It is never enough. If it stops playing, it stops. If it plays to the end of time, it plays. It is What roots metaphors. It does for me What I do not know how to do for myself. I use it to fashion a way to birth heart Whose musical chords has no other existence Than its song that plays every note. What it touches ceases charm and harm, Agony and pain, broken strings, and Burning and burnt risen mind. *** I make a difference being here no one ever sees. My microscope sees what no one else can see; Telescope leaves nothing in the universe out. Find the scar of wound, never a wound. With no strings, live all seamless beings life.