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

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

Access to...

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