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With Purpose Comes This


I cannot know what destiny awaits me. I cannot know where the stars came from or when mischief’s charade will end, or if my friends are really my friends or if this is just part of the bigger picture.

Nicknames feign loyalty like The Sopranos® or lend their snake oil charms to the easiest prey so I might use my own thievery to prosper the blade. With my deeds winding tight across my flesh, I'm intertwined with bribes that steal the tongue of another’s spiritual grace.

There was never meant to be Cain and Abel- a made-up tale of woe and murder and kinship… This tale of brothers (like my veins) whose manifestations mock and denounce the sacred ground upon which they lay their heads is a most heart-wrenching failure.

All I know cannot begin to fill such emptiness grown too thin from the years of self-deceit.

My sole purpose is to love…

For love to indeed conquer all, I must treasure my duty to the eartH, the water and the sky, and hold dearest the sacred love for my fellow brothers and sisters. This communion with the original seed of life was my solitary instruction... to love. Love what allows me my breath to champion my failure.

Why can’t I open my eyes to my great fortune? Hadn't I best begin to bow at the original alter?

Life, everything I know, rises and sets with The Mother. An allegiance must be made among all brothers and sisters, an allegiance among my darkening hope, a prayer that leans nearest to my tireless quest to abandon Home. In my shame I invented "I’m not to blame" and still listen as it echoes down the empty corridors…

Everything I imagine undulates with The Mother and her ripening tonic of nature's cure.

She enters by the old door and asks, "Do you feel most fortunate to lay your head upon the eartH that asks for nothing in return?" (I'd answer but I'm too busy crying.)

O! Creation! When will you shake me off, dispense with me like the insignificant nothing I am? Will your sorrow-filled wrath take time enough to look close enough, even into the beggar’s eyes?

(Long silence...)


When will vengeance begin to look back upon its reckoning and see that it too has been mortally wounded by the sword?

(Long silence...)



© 2011 by mark prime

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