Skip to main content

Lifetimes of Shame Instead of Love



There are no two things that are the same, a blessing and a curse whispering my lessons with trembling lips and driving my red face down into dust. Might I triumph this round, stagger to my corner with legs of rust?

When the sun glints its breath over the seas and streams golden air across the span like a garden of sunflowers, I have to laugh at the breadth of my stupidity. Most damp and dim and without good reason my native Love’s been sabotaged leaving hemorrhaging corpses heavy upon my back, as if I hadn’t enough to carry, enough blood to wash from my slothful hands.

I keep coming back to faith with a vulture’s famine, hunched over a torrent of veins, cleaving the shadows laughing beneath my beak. I return again and again in search of a sunken truth, like a hound on the scent of wide-eyed rabbits darting in and out of the brush, ears unready to hear, eyes exhausted from panic, legs hammering their noise against the thing most lethal to reason; fear.

There are no two things that are exactly the same, they cannot possibly match, no matter how indistinguishable they might seem to be as I drive my mad face down into the sand and sea. Might I come with full Love, or loudly stumble ringside with two corroded knees? Haven’t I done enough to discourage the prowling jackal, held enough air to breathe, left room enough for Love and Peace to thrive in shames bed? I am finished with disgrace! It can howl all night and all day, but I’ve seen and heard enough, lifetimes of regret and woe, it’s time for my Love to reign.


© 2011 by mark prime

Labels:

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...
Post a Comment
read the poem

FAULT METER

FAULT METER    When you get a question wrong you will hear three loud beeps followed by an even louder ticking of a clock.    (Like tick-tick-tick-tick-tick?)    You are half right.    (Like tock-tock-tock-tock-tock?)    You got two halves of it.    (Then I give up!)    You do?    (It ain’t out of weakness, it’s my adhdad.) I understand.    (You understand what?)    That it’s not out of any weakness on your part.    (Weakness, on my part in what?)    Never mind, it’s definitely adhdad.     •    We float, we fly, we soar! We find our wings in each other. We find friends, cousins of the one seed of existence. An existence which never began, but always was, that loves us enough to provide life’s needs, our own, the same. A collection of living peacekeepers upon the surface of the most heavenly example known to them. • © 2017 Mark Richard Prime
Post a Comment
read the poem

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
Post a Comment
read the poem