We are the witness, bearing the thorn, as new blood is born. We must resist to continue, turning our face from the storm. The thunder roars at our backs, the hairs left up to hold the posture, a salute of awe. Held in reproach, as the stomach turns, the old world burns, the Hades of our desires. The chalice overflows, we are meant to transform, to raise ash and bone, to bind with her vine. She is our Mother, bleeding out from the birth of our sins. We must profess our ignorance, cast out our firm beliefs, let truth arrive again with the coming wind.
– Josh Fleming
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