You Can Know a Truth Without Actually Ever Having Been Convinced of it.

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...

ROOT OF

"For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs." __1 Timothy 6:10 It is MONEY, not the LOVE of it that is the issue, the true problem. Love, in and of itself, is never a problem, WANT and NEED, or better yet- the WANT and the conundrum of its very REQUIREMENT for our survival IS the problem, it's creation and our blind use of it is logically the ROOT. In other words, let's leave LOVE out of it altogether and deal with the facts instead. If money were not made by us as a requirement for our survival, we'd find ourselves in a much better position to argue of its need and our want of it. MRP Peace and Love © 2015 Mark Richard Prime

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........•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...

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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

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CONFESSION ZERO

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