You can know a truth without actually ever having been convinced of it. I imagined you were an angel, who’s to say I’m wrong? Some may, but I will still consider her an angel for having strayed into my path to begin with. This dance is not mine, it is ours. She moves about us like light choreographing around planets, like you and I tragically searching for the blue and green thread between love and Love and it’s always been just beneath our feet.
Sing me a moan so clearly blue, play me a lick that soothes of green, take me down with my soul lying between your words and your soul resting between mine. Begin...
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No. But I thank you for your kindness.
A hundred men could not sway my allegiance from truth. I've the strength of Love. You can seek the same. Bow to her with your sorrow at having tried to slay her with your grimacing eyes when you'd all the reason to smile. Love...
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I’m a foul beast if I do not carry on, if I do not seek the truth through the spirit of others what good am I to the least of you? Washed out to the least of that which is the most in you. Echo…
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My fingers shook, but not from the cold, from the damage. Years of alcohol abuse, self abuse, friend abuse, arrogance, intolerable cruelty. Me, I and mine serving no human purpose. We are meant to, programmed to, imagined to, created to serve one master. We are the stewards of Love in Heaven. Echo…
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How is this possible? I never could have imagined such a thing coming to me. Entering me with spirit, human spirit, you, you, you, you, you and you and you and you. Echo…
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I now know, my dear, that you have always loved me, and in that knowledge rests my salvation. I Love you Michelle, my angel Love. You are my orchestra. Play on! Move me to dream of sleep in your arms evermore. Echo... I Love you, Mark, my Love. Love of mine, I am your orchestra, violin strings humming- enter a clarinet’s sorrowful prayer piercing the air- and I will play on and move you to sleep in my arms evermore. Echo...
Random thoughts sewn discordantly before you. Such is the life of one who knows not who they are.
But I had to know that what I imagined was real, what was real could be imagined, know that what I usher in will come quietly, the least suffering, emerge with Love...
Who says it has anything to do with me? The wind speaks in my stead. The rain soaks my venom with sweet affections. The mountains drum their echoes that flatter of beauty, truth and Love.
Peace and goodness be with you. Echo...
© 2011 by mark prime
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