Skip to main content

Cultivate


This is eternal life, it is what we’ve made of it- agony from heaven.

For thinking beasts we certainly didn’t look too closely at what was beneath our feet, did we?

We are animals, instinct, flesh, bone, heart, blood. Thinking beasts have spirits, souls that are waiting to be filled with something other than heartache. Something strumming a string (off you go now), something worth repeating, Love. Love.

That’s it. Now get busy…

~

What can we cultivate first? Hate or Love? If not hate, then peace, if not peace then agony…

If we’ve not fallen, we’ve stumbled, and we could only have stumbled before we began to fall, and thus, the eartH, we’ve landed.

Perhaps we’ve staggered and we’re not just yet plummeting out of control, but well on our way.

Raise your eyes to the dreams you seek, lower your eyes to the truth you know.

I believe.


© 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