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Love, peace and goodness to you, yours and the (H)eartH...
My reasons for not calling on you to speak in place of my waterless tongue are excuses that have never flown. (Forgive me for poisoning your air.) How could I have ever expected excuses to offer any useful silhouette with their idle legs and wingless backs? (Forgive me for destroying your forests.) Indifference is so much heavier with its shrugging load oppressing even the strongest of voices.
I want you to know that it is only my lessons now that have a chance to lift themselves above the cackling redness found in Love's absence. (Forgive me for infecting your water.) I am sorry, I forgot you were waiting. (Forgive me for bombing your children.) I was too busy sleeping to notice. Might you forgive me for not seeing that my back had space enough for a pair of wings?
Posted by Mark R. Prime head-lines on Sep 28, 2011
(The earth and moon)
Climate Change Could Shrink Animals
The rise of our thoughts spelled doom in the changing mist, spelled disaster against the backdrop of the ham-handed certainty that trembled within our flesh, proved us cowards to the full weight of eternity whose language writhed beneath us.
Our self-seeking prayers are colossal birds, powerless to take wing, unable to sense the soil that calls out beneath such unfastened flesh. Shrink mighty animal! Shrink, that you might know your burden and your allegiance to the sacred ground, Love…
Osama Bin Laden Photos Must Stay Secret, Obama Administration Contends
The dead man kept his secret hidden from the love buried beneath his contempt. Why did he wait until it was too late? Did he wish to never know Love’s hips beneath his overly urgent hands, or was he afraid that Love might suffer underneath the man's graceless feet?
These questions have been kept so long as to render them meaningless.
10 Of The Most Unhealthy Shows On TV
CAUTION: spoiler alert! Jersey Shore, Semi-Homemade Cooking, Grey's Anatomy, The Biggest Loser, Mad Men, Toddlers & Tiaras, Diners, Drive-Ins And Dives, Hoarders, DC Cupcakes, Breaking Bad…
Perhaps this list should bring us to ask a meaningful question: Is reality television the true reflection of who we’ve become, a pack of unhealthy, unnatural and unloving animals?
As Scorn for Vote Grows, Protests Surge Around Globe
Love’s been struggling a long time to replace the wars and injustices found raging, as if they’re a video game being played where gamers can drop the controls and walk away unscathed. (Scorn may well have reared its eager head too late.)
The light of the sun tells me that I'm small. The greenness of the earth tells me that I'm her steward. The influence of the spirit informs me that there’s little time left to correct my grave mistakes.
Listen to my soul, put ear to it and remember that my kind isn’t exceptional to life, life is exceptional to my kind. Listen to my heart, paint Love’s green reflection upon its bright pulse and recognize my true nature, a part of the grand procession that is evolving toward Love, toward the full worship of creation. Kindly take her hand and she will lead me to the love of all. Smile upon her gifts, laugh upon her ground, but first weep of the abuse I’ve poured into her waters, loosed within her air, ignited upon her soil and grafted in her children’s minds.
Rain my tears down upon the grass that she might know my sorrow!
Spill my grief upon the sacred ground that she might know my regret!
Shriek my tall shame into the wind that she might know I’ve changed!
The light of the sun tells me that I'm small. The greenness of the earth tells me that I'm her steward. The influence of the spirit informs me that there’s little time left to correct my grave mistakes.
Posted by Mark R. Prime love on Sep 24, 2011
My love, this is the date that my joy wed your delight.
In truth, your love waited with an overly tolerant breath,
Carved my name in the space that waited for the other
Half of your soul to arrive. Your selfless heart yearned
Each and every day that pulsed without any rhythm from me.
Life seemed less than expected as your soul searched for the
Love that had so long before been unanswered and left to ache
Every time it eagerly sought the piece that fit so well.
Perchance you found me seeking the same, the mislaid portion
Ready to effortlessly slide into place and fill the void of years.
I am staggered by your patience, humbled by your affections,
Mad thrown with happiness that your Love for me remained,
Eager to forgive, willing to unlock your spirit and let me in.
I Love you more than any word could ever suggest its meaning.
My laughter has returned with a freedom that never escaped as fast.
Love, with its sweet breath, now soars in me through you.
Until this date arrived I was lost, bent in sorrow and breathless.
Craft another enchantment upon my joy that’s over the moon,
Kiss me again with your righteous lips carved of Cupid ’s bow.
You’ve given me more than I deserved and less than I warrant.
The angels surely favored you
Happiness is like a kitten cuddled up at my feet
And fortune has never been so rich.
Very few men get the chance given me.
Every moment with you is like a dream that never should have been,
Yet, if it hadn’t, if it had fallen away from chance
Offering me instead what was deserved, I’d have died
Unfinished with a howling space waiting for the better part of my soul.
LOVE: The problem is not that your hope has sagging limbs. The problem is not that your love has splintering veins. The problem is not that your spirit’s numbed to arctic degrees. The problem is that you’re lethargic, dead to the dance of Love. The problem is that your lovelessness cracked the steel of your thoughts and drove a sledgehammer deep inside of you with the great weight descending from over the shoulders with a vengeance. The problem is that your fear tightened its grip on the handle of the hammer and you slung wrath’s weight and crushed a cartload of innocent children whose faces smiled up from their jumbled view with questions that never had the chance to be answered.
CHILD: “Why do you hate my blackened smile so much that you’d flatten it with the blunt instruments of your contempt?
CHILD: Why would you violently pull the teeth of my joy like a cruel dentist who loves his job to the same degree with which he abuses his children?
CHILD: What made you so tired of seeing and smelling my rotting existence, me whose life was a visible mess, that should never have looked up to you as honorable, should never have been envious of you with your snobbish air, the veiled symbol used to flee your own wretched existence?
HUMAN(un)KIND: No more questions you horde of crying children with your black teeth and malnutrition and bad grades and food-stamped diets and criminal parents who should have taught you to floss, brush your teeth daily and get a checkup every six months instead of allowing you to steal from the rest of us through your vile existence! Why should I allow you to smile at me with your yellow toothed slices of self-pity and foul tears when they’re only going to be tossed away into death’s cavern? You win some you lose some! Life’s not fair you dirty haired litters of wasted flesh and bone, teeth and oxygen! Go home and cry! Go home to your government housing or your crack house and prepare yourselves to die with at least a scratch of self-respect! Maybe you can give your scraggly toothed no-good dead-beat mommy’s and daddy’s the benefit of seeing through their stained and drug riddled eyes long enough to realize that they’re the ones who murdered you, not me! Your parents, through laziness and ignorance, aren’t capable of seeing how the world really works, so leave the living to those of us who know how to do it, after all, we’ve never lost children to indifference, never been without food or a job like your parents! Go away quietly so you won’t disturb the paying customers. Evaporate from my sight so I don’t have to explain your wretchedness to my own brightly smiling, straight toothed children. Slink on by so I don’t have to see you or smell you. Run away so you don’t waste my precious prayers in my precious church with my precious children on my precious Sunday! My precious God looks on you with hatred, too! He says to go out and prosper and enjoy the riches of the earth, and what do your kind of people do? You die away with a foul pity that turns its teeth in on you! I suggest you die before you’re old enough to collect food stamps and be healthy enough to have your own litter of useless offspring destined to collect food stamps, so one day even they can take from the mouths and college money of my own precious children and grandchildren! You disgust me you snot-nosed pathetic parasites! Your mothers should never have been allowed to have you in the first place! Now get the hell out of my sight before I break all the remaining teeth out of your stupid heads!
LOVE: The problem is human(un)kind’s Loveless screech overrunning his humanity, his growing dis-ease that runs smirking and howling deep within the cavern that’s become the cubicle of his mutual consumption filled with the ashen faces of children. Children smiling their last as the hammer came smashing down. The problem is man’s lack of notice at seeing all the bleached bones piling up on the bomb-fissured ground of heaven. The problem is his agreement to this sadness, the horrific art soaring in his dreams like a plane destined for a tall building. The problem is not his heart or his breath, it’s his spleen, loaded to bear with the boiling graft of terror that’s within his hands to end. The problem is that man’s not soaring. He’s not dancing with the spirits that have their hands held out for him to take, to hold with Love. The problem is that man’s collective prayers are clattering down the assembly line of want and pushing children into the bin of hell that man designed for those living that he deems needless. The problem is that man’s run out of time to fix the surging wave of murder riding his foul greed. The problem is that even if it were fixable, he hasn’t the will to change.
(The stage is bare and awash in a low light and we hear songbirds and other creatures performing their wonderful incantation to life. The houselights fade and the natural sounds build to a wonderful crescendo. Lights, upstage center, come up and we see the most ancient of all existence, THE GRANDMOTHER, her flesh is bark, her legs are sturdy trunks, her arms, elegant green limbs, and her face, the rich soil. She holds a very large wooden staff in her hand. She is a magnificent sight to behold. The incantation fades out. On each of her first three words she brings her staff down to the ground with a mighty crash.)
Open the play [+/-]
(I only see well enough to recognize the sight and sound of my shattering bones, well enough to know my fetid use is poisoning Love, so why did I squint in the daylight in my eagerness to catch a glimpse of Love, the creator’s the last thing I’d have recognized when eartH let slip her wrath.)
Belief Knocked at My Door. I do not Know Anything, I Believe...
I allowed my belief to be written inside of my spirit from what little identity I had left after asking The Mother, The Grandmother and The Great Grandmother who I was. (Maybe I should have been more careful with what I wished to know instead of just being satisfied with what I believed.)
I had no tangible belief until about a year ago when I went on a journey to discover my purpose, my identity. To begin, I had to come to the stark realization that I, Mark Richard Prime, didn't know anything. Not one thing, not even myself. The following, therefore, is not knowledge, it is simply my newfound belief, newfound in every sense, save for that which has always remained unknown to the flesh and that which for most of my life I logically deemed to be greater than self. I knew not who I was and what I was supposed to be doing.
It was an eye-opening year, to say the least. I danced and I prayed with what I considered to be the spirit of Love, The Mother, The Grandmother, The Great Grandmother, the eartH, creation. It was both beautiful and horrific. I fasted, I followed the stars, I prayed, I cried, I laughed, I screamed, I danced with the wind and moved to the night creature's songs, I opened my eyes to who I was and to where I was and, most importantly, I asked that I be allowed to remember.
Do I now know my self and my purpose? Suffice it to say that I, without a doubt, believe I do. It’s the only thing I do “know” without actually having any evidence to present as proof, except for the obvious life that is within, beneath and all around me. My belief is the only thing I can truly say is mine (yet not owned by me). My belief sprang from a shift in my consciousness that was long overdue, it didn’t and does not stem from anyone’s doctrine, book, or another’s philosophy. It came without prompts or another’s ideas, save for that which I collected in my nearly forty-eight years of life, thoughts of what I heard, what I saw and what I experienced, a belief that I alone then fell upon in my shamanic journey and my mournful prayers.
A Child of Creation…
The idea that I’m a child of creation and that I'm a product of said Creation, and of humankind, merely a component of life in its totality (and not nearly as important as I've made myself out to be), is something that I had considered and believed to be true for most of my thinking years, but it wasn’t and isn’t that simple, I suppose it never is.
If I am indeed a child of creation, and I believe that I am, I only want to repair the things that I see as grave injustices to creation that I have been complicit in bringing about. Pollution and toxins in the water top my list, war, indifference, economic disparity and hunger and thirst are nearest to that apex.
My self-destruction beyond belief has for some time now brought me to the edges of madness. These, my ideas of love and goodness and peace, have corrected me and they now move through me with an astonishing velocity. I accept their lessons as truths, otherwise I’d be a hypocrite in my belief.
For a very long time I had been searching for something plausible to believe in, and, through my prayers, my pleas to The Mother, The Grandmother and The Great Grandmother (eartH), my belief began unfolding before me as if it were a closing prayer rather than some mere confidence. Live or die, detest or love, trust or fear, war or peace, those were my choices and they have brought me to mourn the greatest tragedy I could have ever imagined, the parasitic worthlessness I've been to creation.
My Belief Should Permeate With Love…
If, in the beginning, creation, that which has always been, formed the heavens and eartH, then it stands to reason that the eartH is equal to the heavens (Heaven) according to creation’s grand order of things. I will not say that I know it to be true, for I can’t, I will simply say that I believe it to be so. The heavens (cosmos) and eartH were created simultaneously and thus have existed for an equal measure of time and with an equal amount of necessity. Both contain identical amounts of Love; goodness, joy and eternity.
My Connection with Creation…
The following are some of the words attributed to Jesus, who, in my opinion, not only spoke his belief but walked it, too, at his own peril. (My thoughts on the equality of the aforementioned eartH and Heaven are in parenthesis.)
Jesus: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for the kingdom of Heaven (as it is on eartH) belongs to them.”
Jesus: “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted (in Heaven as it is on eartH).”
Jesus: “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied (in Heaven as it is on eartH).”
Jesus: “Blessed are the kindhearted, for they shall obtain kindness (on eartH as it is in Heaven).”
Jesus: “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God (in Heaven as it is on eartH).”
Jesus: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God (on eartH as it is in Heaven).”
Jesus: “Blessed are they who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven (as it is on eartH).”
Jesus: “Blessed are ye, when men shall condemn you, and bully you, and shall utter all mode of evil against you wrongly for God’s sake (on eartH as it is in Heaven).”
Jesus: “Blessed are the humble, for they shall inherit the eartH (as it is in Heaven).”
I pray that Heaven and eartH are indeed the same. I pray that my belief is reality and that I open my eyes, unchain my heart, and cleave my mind from sightlessness with time enough left to realize where I am before I destroy the kingdom of Heaven, eartH. I should have my belief, I should just never allow it to take the place of Love or demand it of others.
I also believe that Jesus went about it the wrong way. I believe that Jesus should not have said he was speaking "God's" desires for he hadn't the right, instead he should have said his words were his belief, not truth, for, in my opinion, they are not and cannot be the same thing. Truth cannot be known in the flesh, in my humble opinion (belief). Belief is personal, not to be flung about as a blade or used as a bludgeon upon another or used to change another's belief, for that is up to them as individuals, as sons and or daughters of Love, the creator, creation, "God" if you will. (I prefer to call it Love.) I am in no way stating that this is anything other than my own personal belief. My words are not Truth except to me and they are in no way intended to be a doctrine of any kind, in any way, shape, or form. These are the ideas of Mark Richard Prime, a mortal man, brought to me through my prayers to what I deem Love, the eartH, Heaven, in my opinion (my belief)...
The Little Children…
Learning can be done to a greater degree when I am an actor of my belief instead of merely just a speaker of it.
Jesus: “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven. Therefore whoever humbles himself like (the) child is the greatest in the kingdom of Heaven.”
What of that? I imagine Jesus was implying that the kingdom of Heaven is indeed the same as the kingdom of eartH? ...Is my spirit like that of little children or is my spirit like that of depraved warmongers filled with nothing more than fears that blind me to the realization of who and where I am? I hope it’s not the latter, and, if it is, I hope that I readily correct my errors and begin to live up to my duty of stewardship to Home, to Heaven, to that which asks for nothing in return from me for her Love, life and liberty, the eartH (it is Heaven, in my belief).
The little children play on the eartH as if they’re in Heaven while this adult wallowed in self-inflicted misery, a self-fulfilled prophecy of agony on eartH.
I, with my closed or half-opened arms, offered nothing but wasted efforts that were, if I am to be honest, nothing more and nothing less than indifference to and the willful destruction of life, the murder of all breath, and, ironically enough, the slow and certain suicide of myself. It is and never will be the murder of the whole of creation, for I hadn't or haven’t the authority to do so. The Mother, Grandmother and Great Grandmother (eartH, Heaven, Love) will shake me off long before I am able to destroy her and her process of life will go on minus me, a lethal parasite to life.
I pray that my answer’s become like those of the little children who swim without agony in the peaceful waters of life. And I pray that my heart becomes like the hearts of little children, filled with a peace and joy for life that brims with unadulterated Love.
The Keys to the Kingdom…
Jesus: “I will give you the keys of the kingdom of Heaven, whatever you bind on eartH will be bound in Heaven, and whatever you loose on eartH will be loosed in Heaven.”
In my opinion those particular words meant that Heaven and eartH are one in the same, making hell the concoction of a fearful mind, ferociously loosing itself upon the eartH by my anxious thoughts. I don't believe that hell (agony) is a fiery pit, I believe it’s what I myself made or make it, agony on eartH (eartH which is Heaven) or Heaven on eartH (which is Heaven). If only I had imagined this sooner...
I bound my limbs to my own miserable concoction of agony on eartH while the little children, with their unfettered thoughts, tenderly danced in Heaven with the whole of life.
The Kingdom of Creation…
Jesus: “Therefore I tell you that the kingdom of God will be taken from you and given to the people who will produce its fruit. He who falls on this stone will be broken to pieces, but he on whom it falls will be crushed."
I believe here, Jesus was saying that the kingdom of God is the eartH (Heaven). I shall inherit the eartH and produce its fruit and I, knowing my duty to the eartH, The Mother, The Grandmother, The Great Grandmother, might fall along the way and could reasonably break a bone or bones, but if I'm guilty of willfully ignoring my stewardship to the eartH and to all of life, I shall not see the kingdom for what it truly is until her full weight is upon me.
Jesus: “Woe to you teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You travel over land and sea to win a single convert, and, when he becomes one, you make him twice as much a son of hell as you are.”
Here I believe Jesus was saying that if I follow unjust laws, I'm a hypocrite, closing my eyes to the unjust results of said laws despite them being a contamination to life on eartH and a charade to creation are as despicable as creating them. I believe he also meant that in doing so I am ignorantly and willfully omitting the larger truth due to my intractable blindness and obstinate pride, which, in turn, has caused me to fail to concede that any and all belief is actually unknowable. I, through my greedy interests and beliefs, have tragically assumed the right to destroy the original gift of life, the eartH. So, instead of me leading the lost to the understanding of Heaven as it is on eartH, I would instead bring them to a belief in hell through my own prideful actions and, in turn, make them into fearful, destructive beasts instead of loving creatures. If this is true, I shouldn’t just pray that Love fixes it, I should take action to do so. Even if it’s not true, or if I don’t believe it, I should take action to fix it anyway. I believe that it is better to love everyone and everything honestly than to lie to everyone and everything, including myself. Better to continue living with my eyes wide open than it is to die in the darkness without ever having recognized where I am. At least that is what I believe to be true, but I do not know.
The Everlasting Life…
Original and eternal life belongs to Love, it is not here for my ownership in any form.
If my personal belief concludes or even hints at the ownership of anything, or if it causes harm, separation, suffering or fear, I believe that it will never result in goodness. If my belief, my imaginings and actions, are for each and all, and don't allude to ownership of any kind, cause no harm to another and bring me to recognize that my purpose is Love, then my belief pleases Love.
My journey has just begun, and I should always be growing along with my loving belief, thereby assuring that my faith never intimidates, divides, conquers, maims or murders the peacefulness favored by the loving creation of Love.
I don't have the ability to know anything for certain and I cannot truly know anymore than the next, but, if I imagine beyond the shadow of my own doubts that what I believe to be true will result in goodness, then I must assure myself through faith alone that it is joyous and will never visit harm upon the family of the original seed, ever.
My Purpose is to Love…
Love is, I believe, preferred over hate (peace over war) and I must love all of life and everything in order to endure. I believe in Love. I believe in Love toward all of existence. I must hold the eartH (eternal life) most dear, even before my precious belief(s). The Mother, The Grandmother, The Great Grandmother, eartH, is the only place I have to lay my head. Love’s the only thing that sustains me and she asks for very little, if anything, in return. Let me believe in this, that I might continue to be a steward for and of the eartH in a way that assures me (and all others) of survival of a most noble purpose. It is, I believe, what creation, Love, desires of me.
Creation is Love…
I believe that in the beginning of Love was creation and in the beginning of creation was Love. Love and Creation are eternal in my opinion. If I look around me with living eyes, Love is revealed. I must look to the stars, but also look at what’s beneath my feet and to that which faces me, for, I believe that Love can only be revealed to me if I view the whole of life and if I love with the same affections that I grant my belief. Let me smile, frown, grimace, howl, stumble, laugh, love and live, but also bow humbly to eartH's sacred ground, bend my knees in servitude of her. I know not where I am because I know not who I am. Until I know myself, Love cannot grow and without Love my self is too heavy to rise. My self is tied to everyone and everything that is before me, according to my belief.
I’ve trudged aimlessly as I sought meaning, as I searched for Love and I’ve failed to see that creation, eartH, The Mother, The Grandmother, The Great Grandmother, has been and will always be in and all around me and those after. I must reveal my stewardship before the weight becomes too great to bear, even for Love.
Who I am and why I'm here still remains a bit of a mystery, yet eternal life, in my opinion, is unquestionably breathing all around me. Either I create a loving Heaven where I am, or I continue sculpting Heaven into my own mortal image until I’ve carved the whole of Love into my self-fulfilled manifestation of agony.
My Deeds Reflect My Belief…
My deeds reflect what I believe, yet I've worn the cloth of war like a shield and brandished the mantle of my faith like a weapon. I need only act upon what I know in the flesh, the spirit will follow. I must allow my thoughts to merge with Love and be comforted by the only thing I know, that which is beneath my feet. When my thoughts, my belief, my faith, and my body bathes in creation, in Love, I will no longer be able to ignore the spirit swimming inside of all living things, no longer able to ignore the fullness of Love or disregard my duty to humbly worship at the foot of the eartH, Love.
I have spent my life bludgeoning reason and Love’s veins with poison…
I should, in my opinion, my belief, pray to the sacred gift, the eartH. I should pray to the living eartH. I should pray to Heaven, to Home, to the breath of my Love, my only beholden, the eartH. My raging spleen has caused me to be blind to my own proximity with creation. It has brought me to rake my talons across eartH's surface with ownership and with hatred filling my heart over Love. Until I recognize where I am, the frame of Heaven will continue to breathe eternal with or without my faded use and misspent affections. I must move with Love over and around the mountains and seas, for they wait on me to open my eyes, for my thoughts and actions to be a reflection of Love. I spent more time looking up for guidance than I did in looking down and recognizing what was and is beneath my feet. Looking skyward will not bring me nearer to Love, only the realization of where I am can do so according to my belief. Bow to that which sustains Love and Life. The Mother, The Grandmother, The Great Grandmother, the eartH, asks that I hold her most precious, that I worship the whole of life, that I love my breathing self, that I cherish all and everything and that I greet the eartH's affections with a smiling peace.
The Face of that Which I Cannot Know…
The questions of who, what, when, where, why and how, should bring me to seek only that which is knowable.
If I am indeed made in the image of Love, the goodness and the madness would have been ripped from my flailing and useless arms long ago. The Mother, The Grandmother and The Great Grandmother, the eartH, is patient and most loving as she breathes beneath and above my once murderous tempo. If she were not Love, she’d have woefully dropped the curtain on my murder play before the second act grew teeth, she’d have dropped the blade upon my wanton thought and the drama would have concluded, until Love wrote a new and gleaming mystery at the first glint of her newly risen and perpetual sun.
The Great Grandmother's Messages to Mark Richard Prime...
Mark Richard Prime, make sure that the heart between your questions and beliefs is a passageway to peace, a door to the righteousness born of the Love for all things, from all things and by all things.
Mark Richard Prime, if your belief prowls with hate and fear in any form, it must fade its use from your blood splattered hands.
Mark Richard Prime, if your faith has your hands lifted in favor of a vicious and thankless existence it shall never be recognized as Love... despite your fervent prayers.
Mark Richard Prime, when you've drained reason through the dry veins of your joyless lips and are unable to hear Love’s answers with clarity and peace because your questions are lifted with a soured grace, it is time to rethink your belief.
Mark Richard Prime, the oaths written of equal love and fear, heaven and hell, have no room to smile in such a shrunken space.
Mark Richard Prime, charity that has lethal weapons as its means toward peace, has already failed to offer sufficient love.
Mark Richard Prime, if what replaces the truth that breathed in you long before trespass and ownership, that which fled your original pledge, if it punctures your lungs, you'll exhale foul greed instead.
Mark Richard Prime, if you erect symbols painted without expression, without thinking, with nothing but an awareness of your precious cautions (weakened levees breaching Love), then truth is imprisoned by your soured reflections.
Mark Richard Prime, if your alarms set to sleep have found you wanting and guilty of defacing Love with the sharp edge of your lifeless affections jutting through the surface of your thoughtless shell, you must scrap your belief evermore.
Mark Richard Prime, your tears will better be served when you’re knelt in shame, it’s your courage that’s been nearly beaten to death and found breathless and gray, toothless and spirit-dead.
Mark Richard Prime, do not cover your eyes and imagine that you've written conclusions that are sacrosanct, the truth is as untouchable as the unknowable death that lurks behind your door.
Mark Richard Prime, you reveal your true prayers and your true belief when you take another’s share and with the surplus allow your greedy claws to assemble the mechanisms of war.
Mark Richard Prime, hatred is war’s twin flesh, identical bone, nothing more, nothing less, a masquerade of victory. If war has you pinned inside its spleen, leaving you gasping and babbling a hoodwinked song as ode to your final lunge you had best rethink your belief or your life will be spent with joy and thee splintering down the cliffs etched of your self-inflated image, carved from your deadened veins, loveless bits and pieces you knit into a blanket to wrap your grief in over and over until you remember the lesson.
Mark Richard Prime, if you've pushed Love beneath the murky water of your ghosts with an abundance of the air and left yourself to drown in the blood that floods the surface of your lowly beast, your belief is against Love.
Mark Richard Prime, your desire to "know" has been the death to your love and to your prayers. Your love lost its way because of curiosity and from the absence of any good found in the breathless worship of your wars. Begin again...
Mark Richard Prime, mask your love with any likeness of fear and you become its agonized reflection.
Mark Richard Prime, you must own up to your own murder by confessing that you know nothing and then divulge your role in this murderous sphere.
Mark Richard Prime, recognize your need of love’s fullness, you may still enable love with the stumbling gait that is your joy if you’ll but lift up that which smiles beneath your unhappy feet.
Mark Richard Prime, awaken! Open your heart that you may carry the fullness of love culled from the brightest affections lurking beneath your skin, a self-portrait, painted with the oils found in the bombs shuttered inside of your bones.
Mark Richard Prime, your Home is lined with spirits, yet you only use them to soften the pounding of your fouled fists and to hone your anesthetized and gnashing teeth for the agony found breathing next to the corpse of your reason.
Mark Richard Prime, if your belief isn't crafted of only Love, you will pale from the bloodletting of grace, from the use and destruction of children, from the monster that you alone have carved from out of the dis-ease found inside you, the skins that are dried up from a worship that mocks creation.
Mark Richard Prime, keep your promises, but only those that swim inside a loving frame and that retain all rights to peace.
Mark Richard Prime, don’t make love a burden, make it a flower smiling within a gentle breeze. Listen, cry, laugh, create, pray, sow, reap, live and love.
Mark Richard Prime, your thoughts are not only your own, they are the constant and solemn collection of your prayers that continually rise within and upon creation without you ever having to lift a finger or speak a word.
Mark Richard Prime, if you dug out all the musty thoughts inside of your mind and replaced them with Love, you'd realize that you’re filled with the immortal spirit, on eartH as it is in Heaven.
Mark Richard Prime, The door to love stands open within you, if you walk through it with the fullness of creation, you’ll be made aware that you‘re within the eternal kingdom of Love.
Mark Richard Prime, enter in, go and live... evermore.
© 2011 by mark prime
Posted by Mark R. Prime 911 poetry
The Cupboard is Bare, The Symbol of Our Days, 9/11 of Hunger, Have You Heard, Sleeping In, Where Have You Been, This Is Not A Poem, One Life, One Skull, One Bone, One Moment, Humanity in Free Fall, Widowed Sky, Floor by Floor, Beam by Beam, Soul by Soul, In Pursuit of 9/11, Omnipresent Enemy, Squalling Stillness, Leave the Box-Cutter, Carry the Lie