Skip to main content

The Mess I've Made


I don’t expect the maker to just hand over the keys to the kingdom after what she’ll find when she looks up and down the mess I’ve made of her.

This is about Love. This is about how beloved I’ve held her. She is the most exquisite work of art ever created and I want to dump what into her waters? The one thing, the one gift I should have kept most sacred. She is, after all, my beholden. She allows me my breath for truth and affections and lies and greed and foul uses of the air, tainting the water and despoiling the sacred ground. If my words do not change course, Mother, Grandmother, Great Grandmother will soon lose her want of me, then where will I go?

This is about me and the love of that which is most sacred. See her cry for my attention? She is gasping for patience with her wayward child. Won’t I open my hoodwinked eyes? It is I that she needs. Don’t I recognize her magnificence? Don’t I remember, the long winter nights of well fed laughter around a campfire, surrounded by my family, the veins of the one seed, original man? Give thanks for that which I cannot know, for that which I should never have questioned. Give thanks for breathing, thanks for growing, the joy, the laughter and love, and all that sustains me.

This isn’t about belief. She’s right beneath my feet. Bow.


© 2011 by mark prime

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

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