Skip to main content

Love's Threadbare Whisper


She looks thinner.
Limbs, hanging on by a threadbare whisper, a slight rustle and a loving grace, she soars.
Listen to her plea!
Heed her tongue crackling with sorrow!
She begs for us to see!

She does not long for us to fail- fail her, fail Love, fail creation, fail Grandmother, fail Grandfather, fail. Laughter’s etched with our names on her skin like a tattoo engraved by Love.
Wear it proudly.
Wear it lovingly.
Wear it.

She looks ill with man’s use.
She seems to be nearing her tolerance.
Oh! Let us prop open our eyes by ceasing the noise found in our machines!
The greatest invention ever imagined remains the Heart(H) of Love, his bride, an eternal eartH.
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump!

We cannot forgo the truth.
The truth tarries not.
The truth does not hold her tongue, she speaks plainly-
rumble, quake, groan- she Loves without condition save that we-
boom, rattle, thump echo- Love, Love, Love, Love…


© 2011 by mark prime


Labels:

Popular posts from this blog

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

Waiting for It

Why do they stay there, between war and peace? Sky’s tapestry doles out guns, bombs and rocks while flesh and bone swim away from the ache yet live on as the food for the murder of peace. Why do we hide from the truth as if it were an ogre while death makes a home inside their living and war dispatches a raven to their door, smirking with the teeth of empire? Why do we wait, stooped for another wink? The sky’s drapery has tossed down ample clues, peace is breathing in harmony with war. (Road-maps are useless to blind leaders.) Why do they hold there, hunched in the gloom? Hatred’s bird cackling with bereavement needs end. Are we not rightly dishonored when we fill its trough with blood? © 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
12 comments
read the poem

Laughter's Grip

They asked me to wait. To wait for God to come laughing, wait on His voice to destroy the golden temples of man, hold my tongue until His powerful breath was upon me, and from His loving casualties I’d at last know the Savior. They asked me to wait. To wait for God to come laughing, wait for His followers to die away their persuasive babble and the murder of Islam to breach the walls of the earth as the many damned souls drowned under holy laughter. “O! The Lord God is looming! On his way with God’s wrath! We are to take up swords and send evil howling back to die their well deserved and slow death! Their faces popped and spattered these words as they fell back, caught in His fiery presence, twisting their tongues into drivel and thrashing their minds in the glory of an Eden unlike any other. And then the snake planted his venom through the laughter of their gyrating madness. Tears emptied their pockets, spirits came crashing , and the anointed rapture of their making grew tire...
23 comments
read the poem