Skip to main content

Hunger ~ This is the First Day (the final September Song of 2010)

This is the first day I woke up. I rose to me, to a sea green kindness. I found truth resting on my window sill, crowing with it’s intone of love, love, love… It startled me and my sleepy eyes. It moved in me like rain, like joy, like a fortune of food and affection, all my brothers and sisters lifting the one language to truth like doves crooning peace upon the foundation.

This is the first day the old me stayed asleep and the truth rose up with my great shame and began feeding the hunger inside. She sidled up next to me with a gentle charity pursed upon her lips made of goodness, whispering truth to the chaos in my name. This is the time we've been told of. The darkness we've let slip through is like a beast without legs to lift peace, a lie told long ago born in me, in you.

This is not new. This is not me. This is us, the original seed, the collective wish come calling down like morning dew kissing my cheek, like a looking glass staring back at me, weeping for what I’ll believe in today, for what I’ll make from hate tomorrow, for what I’ll bring to pass inside another, held away from my sisters and brothers, lies dug deep inside me, a bitter shade.

Today I’ll lift charity to its original tallness and remember, love’s not the things summoned in restless sleep or of quivering dreams, it’s remembering the joy, the goodness, the rainbow bending down to worship the tree, the rock, the grass, and the water lapping at my feet, drenched in laughter, assuring me of truth like a mother to a child, held near to her flowing breasts, bringing goodness to a loving hereafter.


© 2010 by mark prime


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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

SKYFALL

Skyfall... We continue to play along with an unnatural game that has serious consequences, soon we'll find ourselves enslaved without recourse to the system. (Is that true of local charades?) Yes. (Why can't we free ourselves from the system?) The madness of money. (It's not money, it's people, right?) It's both, money and us in tandem, thus assuring money's might and our adherance to its loudness. (Madness...) Indeed. © 2017 Mark Richard Prime

THE ROCK HOLDS

The rock holds the soil in and from the soil springs the tree, the green of LIFE rolling from the blue, rising to the occasion of itself. . “Be!”, the (H)eartH declares, “Be what you are!” . (We thought we were!) . (We think we are!) . “You are, but not freely, therefore, only a thought, and a thought without much thinking, as if you were scared into it.”, the (H)eartH added. . [a quietude begins, the truth being heard and heeded, grooving to the flow] ~ © 2017 Mark Richard Prime