Skip to main content

Crashing the Gate


If I am to live, I must love, and, by the same token, if I am to be then I must live.

That made sense at the time, but then, so did my thoughts, now they’re crashing the gate.

If I am to believe in belief, which is, essentially, all I am, I must bear in mind that I’m not alone. I’m supposed to believe without instruction, save for that which is reflection without want.

O! Creation! My thoughts are my belief! The world I create must be precious. I am meant to find my own way on the path, the passage intended for all living things. If I am to love I must reward life with my love. A returned favor. I offer all my love! I smile on all brothers and sisters of creation!

The heavy gate begins to quake, my mind soars and gives tongue to my belief. Be. Be in belief. The animal in me remembers.



© 2011 by mark prime

Comments

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...

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

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