CONFESSION ZERO

(Picture From Evil On Two Legs ) All I see are desperate faces, eyes without dreams, minds without compassion and hands without Love, scraping their filth over creation. My own eyes are wet from this misuse. No consideration and without reflection, I've bowed my head, not in prayer, but with such monstrous shame. I see this, my madness, as most tragic, the Love on which my flesh is riding is the only Heaven I know. I find it hard to stomach the cruelty being raked across creation with my own likeness being reflected. Wash it away! It’s too monstrous! Wash it all away from the thankless path! The children are dreading the monster that comes from under their beds that have mommy and daddy’s terrified within their thankless faces. They sense hopeless postures when they look into the empty eyes come screaming, dead hands stroking their worried brows, greedy lips kissing their regret. I see this madness as most tragic, the Love on which my flesh is riding is the only Heaven

( Painting by Newell Convers Wyeth from Encore Editions ) There were splendors. The ocean navigated them nearer the plump breast of a new world. Our indigenous, greeting the sailor with smiles and immense warmness. Peace, in this meeting of fleshes, soiled itself with chains of slavery and riches beyond the queen’s dreams. The land, and its worship, was sliced open like buffalo on a red plain. Sky, the sky, the sky doesn’t dance anymore, not with spirit or truth. Of our scourge we eulogize the ghosts of death, of massacre, beyond the new machinery, our lives. The Indian, the child, the meadow, the slaughter of stillness. Can’t take it back now! Can’t! It’s done! Musket, arrow, flesh, the birth of a country, drum... © 2011 by mark prime