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Obedient Mayflies


Every child upon the earth feels with their spirit, mothers tell them to stay by their side, there’s less panic in proximity.

They’ll learn that they cannot remain when the wind calls out to them, lifting their feet in freedom, fluttering their briefness like mayflies.

They love, yet do not understand that Love is a lifelong journey that expands only after all of their suspicions sleep.

Their small hands hold my sleeves as I weep for my own youth’s span that suffocated from a lifeless tongue.

A thousand gallons of flesh and blood still pours over the soil as testimony, as marker for my loveless obedience.

The half-love I taught only hobbled, it didn't dance or soar with charity until, from back to front, it was unwritten.

I cannot bring them around with war, with anything that teaches separation. What on earth made me think I could?

The scenes of battle, real or imagined, steep my familiar sleeves in blood and mask innocence with casualty.

How long did I think it could last, my smile beneath such heaping fear?

Now everything hammers of sorrow, eyes wide with an absolute disbelief, innocence thrashed with liquid dreams, righteousness deprogrammed by deceit, proper Love left behind by coldness.

Bring my affections out to greet them, heal their fears with the power of love and hold close the child's gleeful innocence, it’s the only thing standing between them and the somber instructions in my breath.


© 2011 by mark prime


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