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WEDNESDAY (3/11/09)

Alabama rampage leaves several dead
Storm of the wounded, the quieted dead snuffed down under. What will we do, drain ourselves of living? Where are we traveling in the smog-stacked spaces of dread...

Acidic seas fuel extinction fears
The sea crept by a sunken oil tanker, air bubbled out its blackened hull and called out, “In here! It’s safe enough!” The sea moved on without notice.

Madoff faces life in prison on 11 criminal charges
Eleven-
One more and he’d be a disciple, one less and he’d be Moses, as it stands, death will find him there.

CIA Torture: A Reckoning at Hand?
O agony has found his lover in this, with hooded face and shackled wrist, naked, they shall move together as one and assemble tombs in their offspring.

Bomber kills 33 at Iraq peace conference
They had removed their shoes and sought a silence over the blaring storm that shrieked across an engaged spirit, their many scarves, like a morning dew, longing to shroud the wounded world.

© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

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ROOT OF

"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

sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

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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It's odd to me that the future is accessible to God, but we're stuck with remembering the past, it's untenable. History repeats itself from our obsession with it. I say leave history where it is and instead create something of a present worth repeating.  © 2015 Mark Richard Prime