soundofmanywaters

  Pearl beyond price   O merchant, merchant, don't buy love. Your wealth will be utterly scorned.   There was shouting, I remember, jeers, curses, hoarse cries of pain and someone quietly weeping. There was trampling, hooves and boots, great wooden stakes thrust into mud and a spear thrust into softness. There was something streaming softly down, given to the mire around me and there was a terrible darkness.   They say that pearls are born of injuries. I was born of His tears. I wanted to be the salt globe of His grief, souring the earth with bitterness, but He would not. They were tears of love. I am heavy, lustrous with heaven's light.   O merchant, merchant, sell your trash, Give all you have and are.   They say that those who seek fine pearls must dive far beyond light and air where bloody froth can boil your brain to bursting where death swims streamlined round you and there, where freezing weeds clutch every limb