Prince of peace

The price of peace was taken out of the...
Prince of peace, in the wartorn middle east.
Callouses sprang from his fingers and goat´s milk stained his beard.
The true vine grew.
By foot and by hand.
Over rocks and neutral sand.
With a watering can in one hand and an axe in the other.
The word of reason, where truth accumulated so did souls of virtue.
Where he stopped the via of malice.
And cut out the root of fallacy.
Sitting under the cloudless sky sharing but one moment to see the noble flame so well hidden in each of we.
A grin opens like our hearts when we let go.
As the river sustains us everflowing, yielding even when we pollute it.
Even when we limit it to a meagre trickle.
Like our awareness.
Forgiveness breaks the damns that resentment blocked and floods the towns where hate colonized.
The true vine. The light and the prince of peace.
I´m not preaching, when i´m speaking of Jesus.
It´s more than a belief.