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Ode to the 300


Rev the engines! Curse and scream! The world needn't any more hate, none that wraps arms around death, slips the nuthouse into heaven, then bleeds itself into the church of man.

It’s evident in the orange night sky, visible in the night’s chandeliers, swaying from what they’ve seen, from what they now witness. Stars aren't blind, save for their past and future sufferings. They see troubles on eartH for it is Heaven. A prayer? A curse? Or could it be word; reflection, nightmares and dreams, pushing forth their breathless story of fire, brimming with the dank cloth of certainty, spitting out heirlooms of teeth and bone as dust?

Knowledge is blind. It’s unaware of its own girth as it packs up supplies for the next fresh hunt. The pursuit of Love, for the creator of all things, and the search for that which my flesh can never know. Let love be my God! Allow my eyes to see what’s before them. Bring my senses around to remembering where I live, to recognizing my surroundings one heartbeat at a time. Urge the rhythm to encase my suffering, bring it full force, I've enough of it to spare.


© 2011 by mark prime

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