Showing posts from July 31, 2011

It Was All Supposed to Mean Something...

How… Where’d I fail the creation? Was it in my failure to yield? Was it purposeful? Was it the truth as far as I knew? (I know nothing, save where perversions of truth discharge from the robot’s mouths in disbelief.) Why… Knowledge is to be respectful and unlimited, save for that which enslaves me, save for that which separates my love and conquers my dancing soul. What… My loving belief of self and of belief in the whole of life, everything; stone, sea, mountain, valley, river, canyon, prairie, desert, flora and animal... Everything. I must humble myself for peace… I must answer this question for myself, do I imagine that I'm an animal or do I imagine that I'm a god? Who... Man: I’d set aside my belief if war would bow, put belief on hold if hunger would vanish! Woman: I’d change my belief if the wind asked it of me! Man: Or if the mountain wailed, “Enough!” or   if the sea ebbed and moaned, “End this..!” I'd let it all go if I were convinced Jesus ha

She's Not Mine to Own or Abuse

Bring your wrath lunging like the eagle, Mother! I will sacrifice my being for your oceans, for your seas and wilderness, your sky and love. I will fade away want and create with selfless affection. “Love, laugh and live” swims as the red moon hangs its truth over stolen lands, over my shame; hungry children, warriors, the silent, the brown, the black, the red and white of my split flesh, the meek and the unforgiven, creation’s breath. O let my possessions fall away from their foul use! Embrace another! Hear before I regret deafness, see before blindness covers more than my eyes, before quaking creation hauls all of my greed away. I will love my home, which is not mine to own or abuse, I will cherish her sacred remedies, her medicines stolen by soured souls and misspent worship. The fiery moon beseeches me to soar my Love from sea to shining sea, from mountain top to valley, from the forests to the deserts, the rivers and the caves, the jungles and the cities be seen f

Silence. (Silence.)

She leaned in close, I shuddered with awe, I was the air and she, the ground. Yes. She pursed her lips to mine and I knew it was past time. The clock’s a symbol. The clock leaks time like oil outweighs air and there’s less of it than breath. Yes. (Silence.) Before she releases me to sleep-dream, She needs to tell me something. The time has come. I am ready, prepared to set my Love free, to bridge that which has never been entirely mine. Yes. Fate and the wind taught me that this is my home, Heaven. That this is life's Home, it has always been and will be. Yes. I've Life and Love to sew, to imagine, to hope, to pray, to bow humbly to, to cherish, to believe. Yes. (Silence.) She wanted to make sure that my certainty was well in hand before she left me to my own devices, my own belief! Yes. She told me my purpose with a groggy thud. The echoes have since humbled into my story, into the expansion of roars from other upright beasts bent on self-destruction; the allure of

My Days of Whirling Madness

My days whirl their mist with madness, a madness that’s not mad at all. Call it belief, personal thought or call it love, either way it’s mine to have and to hold, to give away or snuggle up with in the gloom. The fractured light pours over the yard as the sun bows to the horizon, runs its fingers through the budding dusk and bids adieu to another day without rain. Birds flap, as if to cry “It’s time to rise up, Man!” I’m ready to be. Ready to be who I am, toting madness and everything. I've made being and madness inseparable; two rivers leading to a dim grown sea that ebbs and flows with me, my and mine. When will the truth triumph over self? Have I gone too far? Too far gone or come too close? She answers, they're identical. © 2011 by mark prime

Crashing the Gate

If I am to live, I must love, and, by the same token, if I am to be then I must live. That made sense at the time, but then, so did my thoughts, now they’re crashing the gate. If I am to believe in belief, which is, essentially, all I am, I must bear in mind that I’m not alone. I’m supposed to believe without instruction, save for that which is reflection without want. O! Creation! My thoughts are my belief! The world I create must be precious. I am meant to find my own way on the path, the passage intended for all living things. If I am to love I must reward life with my love. A returned favor. I offer all my love! I smile on all brothers and sisters of creation! The heavy gate begins to quake, my mind soars and gives tongue to my belief. Be. Be in belief . The animal in me remembers. © 2011 by mark prime

The Door Opens In

The door opens in, it always has. The entryway is littered with the remnants of the previous slaughter of spirit. I can’t step around the gruesome scene or take my mind away from the sight of the senseless carnage. Believe what I will. Harvest what, from my hand, is sewn. The eartH is the reason I am here. She sustains me, the only thing that does, as far as I'm likely to ever know in the flesh. Take my hand, Love. Guide my kindness. Nurture my thoughts. Allow me to open my sightless eyes as you carry my feet, lift my eyes, open my hands and walk with goodness, respond with gratitude and with love. It is what I must begin to do. The eartH is patient. I am gluttonous and cannot see my own reckoning, blind to my ruin, to the reaping of what I alone have sewn. I cannot continue with my coveting of a forged tenure, chaos has found me wanting and guilty of murder. The door stands open, it always has. © 2011 by mark prime