Island, garden, inferno
Where lies the primordial springs that birthed our forefathers, I shall offer my flesh to share with the land that takes the essence of all who step foot on its bounty; while from the shores, beneath the sand, those lost are reborn to wait for another taste from the garden.
In the green forest with the moon burning like the sun, those springs shall bring forth fresh fruit that will inhabit this land and witness the fragility of the Earth as it is engulfed by the flames of revelation.
The waves of the ocean are a maw that will swallow all that the land offers, but those fresh fruit will continue to replenish and change until the land is devoured, and the primordial springs – and our fathers will meet again, for there is no death in the waves that crash on distant shores when they wash over the flesh sacrificed by the fresh fruit of the land.
And there shall be in the waves in the ocean the face of a deer from the place that was washed away, and the face of that deer will drink the water of the waves of the ocean that swallowed the land and bring back the garden that bares fresh fruit from the sacrifice of flesh to the primordial spring that birthed our fathers.
That which dies shall still know life in death for all that decays is not forgotten and reanimated it shall walk the world in the bliss of not-knowing.
And then there shall be a fire that knows your name, and in the presence of the primordial spring, its dark shallows shall acquire every part of you that remains.