CONFESSION ZERO

( 300 Bikers Foil Westboro Baptist ) Rev the engines! Curse and scream! The world needn't any more hate, none that wraps arms around death, slips the nuthouse into heaven, then bleeds itself into the church of man. It’s evident in the orange night sky, visible in the night’s chandeliers, swaying from what they’ve seen, from what they now witness. Stars aren't blind, save for their past and future sufferings. They see troubles on eartH for it is Heaven. A prayer? A curse? Or could it be word; reflection, nightmares and dreams, pushing forth their breathless story of fire, brimming with the dank cloth of certainty, spitting out heirlooms of teeth and bone as dust? Knowledge is blind. It’s unaware of its own girth as it packs up supplies for the next fresh hunt. The pursuit of Love, for the creator of all things, and the search for that which my flesh can never know. Let love be my God! Allow my eyes to see what’s before them. Bring my senses around to remembering where

(Moon Night Sky from  Layout Sparks.com ) If I still have my Love I’ll not have wasted my belief after wars have broken through the stars like thieves. I’ll not have wasted my belief on words, I’ll have found love through my willing hands. That’s what I started by propping up my storm in the midst of Love which gives without asking for anything in return, that which delivers my thoughts and dreams without restraint, my pleas without want, without instruction, without the harness of murder, rape and god-fouled war. Through my hands, through my heart, through Love, I must still believe enough to wrestle deceit to its knees and embrace the Spirit of Love that’s within arms reach. Oh! Reach out! They are there! Reach out! Let them nestle their imperceptible wings into your spleen, cuddle up inside of the fearful belly and dream. © 2011 by mark prime