Skip to main content

The Prayer of One Language

November is COPD Awareness month

My breath is of the one seed. What I have gleaned in my days, along my path and reach I’ve held dear, above the battle and scarlet storm, before the arrogant slaughter of even one?

With dis-ease running rampant along the highway, upon the soil with its talons of greed, I must implore that we consider our severed state, heed the termination imprinted on our face. I oppose the massacre of truth and stand at the ready with the withering grass and vanishing trees that smile underfoot and laugh overhead, my breath dances as my heart sings for thee, crooning for your love and your joy to raise their lips up in solitary prayer, this wish; an end to warring with our dis-ease.

Oh! Let our lips concur! Let our mouths form love! Under stars and upon the ground, let our speckled language carry the brilliant truth! From shore to shore… let it be believed...





Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

........•SHRIEKING MACHINE•........                  •HEAD-LINES•                           •RIP•     ---(“Russian missiles blast Ukrainian military academy and hospital, killing more than 50, officials say”)---    There are no more lessons to learn here, no more beds to hold the human wounded, just missile’s shrieking their grotesque ode, The Death of Humankind! RIP, children of God…    ---(“Hundreds attend Mercer Island vigil, march for murdered Israeli hostages”)---    Dear mourners, this is the brutal vacuum of a genocidal, terror-filled, indiscriminate war-machine made of fear and we are all hostages to its deafening roar! RIP, children of God…    ---(“10-year-old allegedly confesses to fatally shooting 82-year-old man and his daughter”)---    I must confess, this is part of war’s shrieking, children lost with a we...

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

Per Plex Ed

            PER+PLEX-ED When you haven’t heard the truth in so long, when you do, it rings a most familiar s ong. That’s the human song, the truth rolling out exactly when it should.      (If a truth is told and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound only to the one that spoke it?)    Yes, but our ears aren’t strong enough to hear it.     [a perplexed silence] © 2017 Mark Richard Prime