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In My Bones


What the mind of man can conceive and believe, the mind of man can achieve.
__Napoleon Hill

Belief suffers at my own hand. It grips the trigger of my demise with the brace of the jackal’s maw that stalks Love’s affection. My mind, the one of my kind, with its wide storm puncturing the veins of an arid blood, cannot imagine a truth that bows to Love or that dreams of joy laughing with the wind.

My spirit yearns of liberty from this empty toiling, longs for escape from all of self isolation. My spirit prays that I merrily dance with the whole so that I may recall the soul's unspoken kinship. Pride, greed, hatred, cruelty, envy and deceit are the skilled assassins with their crosses aimed at Love and it is only belief that can conquer the will. The rigid ego's howling is nothing more than the talons of selfish doctrines enslaving the whole of spirit.

I can summon the belated sorrow from my bones and struggle to weep for the spirit’s arid demise as the spirit longs only to be loved and received for its private music, its uniqueness, its freedom.


© 2011 by mark prime

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