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SUNDAY 04/13/08

Clinton Accuses Rival of Elitism After Obama Says Some Voters are Bitter
Stewards of prosperity narrow their eyes at our despair, a wrinkled desire for our failure folded under their brows. It is with harsh certainty that they will pawn our dreams. No. Failure’s not purchased like bread.

Deadly Blast Strikes Iran Mosque
And with its isolation comes human surrender hovering near the crater left by religion’s perplexity, war's clarity.

Regional Leaders Urge Fast Zimbabwe Poll Result
Yes. Hastily now, for her people, heirs to South Africa’s grief, her soul’s expedience.

Secret Iraqi Deal Shows Problems in Arms Orders
What can we learn from history? The hue of deception? The burnish of truth? Yes.

Britain Warns Terror Threat is Worsening
Hatred comes from fearing. Death from living. Terror comes not at all, unless something brings its giving.

HUD Chief Inattentive to Crisis, Critics Say
And who are they, living in that place all these years, waging war on shadows, purchasing weapons with blood?


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"For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs." __1 Timothy 6:10 It is MONEY, not the LOVE of it that is the issue, the true problem. Love, in and of itself, is never a problem, WANT and NEED, or better yet- the WANT and the conundrum of its very REQUIREMENT for our survival IS the problem, it's creation and our blind use of it is logically the ROOT. In other words, let's leave LOVE out of it altogether and deal with the facts instead. If money were not made by us as a requirement for our survival, we'd find ourselves in a much better position to argue of its need and our want of it. MRP Peace and Love © 2015 Mark Richard Prime

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I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason to carry death there. Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just the sons of Abraham? O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to their stiff-limbed sleep as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet, children dying there. I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow of the patriarch, asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and leave our flesh to time? © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

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