Skip to main content

Peace is my Prayer


Peace is my prayer. Peace is my worship. Peace.
Peace is my flower. Peace is my stone. Peace.
Peace is my child. Peace is my master. Peace.
Peace is my mother. Peace is my drone. Peace.

War is my priest. War is my beast. War.
War is my corpse. War is my grave. War.
War is my skin. War is my grin. War.
War is my tyrant. War is my knave. War.

O! Disparity’s the noose around peace,
the guillotine’s blade falls upon me!
Must I lie to myself of my sworn duties,
hoodwink my eyes into their blindness?

My tears soak up indifference with truth.
My lips point down in a disfigured grimace.
My love feels my wrist for a living rhythm.
I’m the battlefront inside/outside my head.

War is my scar. War is my wound. War.
War is my tornado. War is my flame. War.
War is my shadow. War is my blight. War.
War is my weakness. War is my shame. War.

Peace is the air. Peace is the wave. Peace.
Peace is the wind. Peace is the stream. Peace.
Peace is the puppy. Peace is the sand. Peace.
Peace is the laughter. Peace is the dream. Peace.



© 2011 by mark prime



Labels:

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
Post a Comment
read the poem

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
32 comments
read the poem

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
Post a Comment
read the poem