Skip to main content

Look Beneath Your Feet


Look beneath your feet.

Look beneath your feet, she waits.

Look beneath your feet, before it’s too late!

Look beneath your feet, see her leaning?

Gaze on her beauty! Smile at her smiling green and blue and rainbow of hues never imagined in our monstrous belief. She needs me. She desires me, if I’ll but believe in Love.

When the wars began, the people lost their minds, zombies clanking along a pathway of thorns; screaming, gnashing teeth, hair and suffering; not eternal, it just seemed forever… Hush now, Love. I’m here. I will never forsake you.

Be Love and believe in me.

If I am called I may have to run more than I walk, cry more than I talk. ...Sweet cello beneath my belief, what sorrow have you not seen, you, with your strings humming away at my mind, at my consciousness?

I must wake up! I’ve not much time! Move my feet, raise my voice!

I will. I am.



© 2011 by mark prime
Labels:

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

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
32 comments
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