Showing posts from April 24, 2011

When I've Desire...

(Desktop Wallpapers) When I've desire for invocation, I look to the stars and gaze upon them, bowing to their majesty.

When I've desire for clarification of my smallness, I look to the mountain, the forest, and the river.

When I've desire of calming, I listen to the cry of the oceans and seas sweet reverie.

Yet, when I've desire of possession, I’m unable to hear The Mother’s language... earth tones.

O! When I've desire, let it rumble! Permit it crack my falsehearted tongue like a mirror.

© 2011 by mark prime

My Use Adrift

The rain pours as if it weeps for me, for what I've permitted, for what I've forgotten.

This, my stewardship, hasn't its anchor, nothing to stay the rage, the emptiness, save for nature’s wrath.

O! I coveted fulfillment, the heaving shell- a use no longer ready, the weight too great to fathom, the deceit, an unvoiced iceberg breaching the covenant with myself!

I'll have blame to spread like manure over the shame of capsized Love, as goodness takes in its last lungful like a first-rate captain sinking into the void.

(It is written that Jesus was the son of man, so the proclaimer became the proclaimed.)

Am I too not the son of man, aren't we all the sons and daughters of man, cousins of the original seed, brothers and sisters, those who will soon seethe of a mutated fortune?

As a steward of Heaven I've drained all use from truth, from Love, from joy, pilfered from my very hands. Soon I'll congregate in a cave like bats and plead that life lif…

Her Answer

(MeqoDesign, Beautiful Nightmare)
When the setting sun revealed its vow above the dusk on the horizon’s edge it ushered in the hours of darkness behind its hallowed cradle and I found myself rapt by the creatures stepping out, flying above, hopping around, speaking the incantation of nature, without weapons, without the injustice of a loveless power, without questioning the reality that brought them here.

To them, paradise is this moment, this minute, this flash, this present time of worship, now, this instant, not in a while or when called away to eversleep.

Beasts moving within the cycle of life, upon the one thing, the only Home they’ve ever known, smile at the sustenance found within their original dwelling, the only paradise they’ve ever dreamed… or imagined.

Even if it’s merely this time around, this chance, it’s not in vain, for the animal hasn’t a need to know, or time to be bothered with why, what, who or when. They abide by the unwritten allegiance to being; the nameless wo…

The Unwearied Way

(African Violet Chimera)
I pace this emerald reward as if it must end. But what of life? It seems to be the ultimate gift and that which the river fills, the air breathes, man sees, and the water feeds… And isn’t life, that which sustains without question, without the need to know, without distinctions, exclusive of me altogether?

My curiosity turns toward the root, yet rots and cracks if I but spurn my kinship, deny my promise to another, to my kind, to Love, that which breathes like the wind and sun inside of all living things, that which is held inside the whole of life.

This world, this earth, with it’s breathing art, is set to greet me daily if I would but open my eyes to witness her and feel the one thing I’ve truly ever known, which is still belief since we become the thing we hunt,no less and no more than the dog, the lion, the deer, the bear and this freely given life. Then, and only then, might I see myself dying, fading for what I've lived instead of for what I’ve beli…

Loveless Power (We the People)

"Easter has less to do with one person's escape from the grave than with the victory of seemingly powerless love over loveless power" --Bill Coffin

Flags drape Easter’s unknown tomb, strapped around rock with metal’s twisted brooch. Sorrow stains the air (where steel spikes pierced hands and feet) slinging hope like a missile out its cage of a valiant plot into the mislaid reaches of cruelty.

Why must mankind heave and lick the powerless air with death’s dark tongue? The disconcerted stand silent on dead-end streets awaiting hope to unravel... come undone.

© 2011 by mark prime