CONFESSION ZERO

Oh that breathes so much better now that we’re not standing on Love’s neck, beauty down. Pluck! Pluck! Pluck upon your strings seeking her grace and forgiveness. Her heart breaks! Her love screams! Her love quakes! Call, call, call, call, love… ~ The End. Swaying to the music, lifting our spirits where they may. If you hang on spirit, you sense the urgency in her tongue. Crashing, broken heart, along the way we’ll figure it all out, Love… ~ Creation damns it now. I should have understood from the beginning, I do have a choice to make. How can it be a choice when your mind’s already overrun with lies? Waft now cello, let go thy breath, exhale in when death, inhale after death, exhale after death, until they become more than less than nothing. See her cry? Her shores, her streams, her majesty, look at her rivers! Look at her rivers! Look! © 2011 by mark prime

Whoa… She’s rising to greet me in her mist covered meadow with her Love made from Love, crafted of laughter mixed with a solemn vow, formed of joy, mixed into worship’s hymn. One worship, one. My eyes have finally failed me, after all the other animal things within and upon went to ditch, I’ve failed and I’ve crushed the last of the good lives inside of gumdrops as trail left by the wind and the rain. Let me come soon after and traipse a lie on my way back… for tomorrow and tomorrow. Give a man a home where the piano pounds, and out pours its joy with the air of gravity, where the laughter pours as smooth as the drinks, as smooth as me and you in our dance of Love. It is what you are, it is I. It is we. She’s the long mirror all the way to the back of the soul, nothing hides, nothing chides, if after we recognize ourselves in Love, we rise to her care. She is injured and we are the invaders who needn’t try to conquer that which we seek… Let me fly away with you inside the wind...

If you don’t like where you are, then stride on over to the bartender and ask him kindly to tell you a tale, pour one out like whiskey rolling across the ice, like Love's lungful swimming in your veins, the man behind the bar will bring you round to laughter and to realizing where you are. He’s the man behind the bar -so to speak and speak to sow what to your lips, the genie lays you down to peace. Now go. Behind the bar, the tap room of affections, she, that holds our sorrows, reaches back our glee and slings it to the stars- Yet still, she sees our love as on its way back, so we can be. Remain. Just be. Last call… © 2011 by mark prime

Boom... 1. An angel stole my heart. An angel stole my heart, a petal dropped from the storm, the wind blowing through its warbled tongue then fell upon my spirit. It held me dear like a child, hungry from the waste that I’d made. Oh! The child spoke of freedom! Did you hear his wind blowing truth like a song meant for all of those in creation’s arms? All things beneath the sparkling canopy, lifting up for us to gaze, for us to love. All things computed by my mind are of self and not in harmony with life. Living and life mean many different things. Love has but one. It needn’t be defined, it breathes its beauty through everything within, it exhales beneath us, it moans from its aches and loves with each and everything that is her. She, her laughter, her glee, her life tumbling in joy with our eye on the prize, her love as soft as mist kissing our downturned lives, her arms and lips envelope us in this world without end. 2. Fear enters with a slow, mysterious dance stand...

Maybe it’s way ahead of me, beyond my thoughts of what just might be, beyond the beyond of beyond. Yes! It’s ahead of our time and we’re so far behind by our time. Time! Take the red pill for anxiety, ingest the green pill for the polar opposite effect. Hello, spoke Grandmother, is anyone listening, reading, and thinking on any of this, yet? Speak! © 2011 by mark prime

I’d take out all the words, thought, written, uttered, divine, all words conjured in man’s mind ...and stay with Creation's original silence. To get to silence isn't easy, or so we’ve made it. Silence is earned, like trust, by giving up our thoughtless hold on her. Oh! Let go her reins, that she might rise up without the fearful beast of our dreams! I’d take out all the words, thought, written, uttered, divine, all words conjured in man’s mind ...and stay with Creation's original silence. © 2011 by mark prime

You've got to bring Heaven down to earth before she reaps what she alone has sewn, life run amok, man incensed at his own folly. Thinking about the years I’ve spent leading away- how much further do I have to go? Thinking on the final verse- Worth screaming? Worth beginning? Worth the suffering? Worth the ending? Together, not at war with one another? Peace is an open door, it stands waiting for us to enter with laughter rising in our throats. It then comes full throated and warbling the Mother’s tone. She beckons to us, smiles her air and loves her sun, her loves the strength of Love, a peak that few can climb. We’d better be ready to give it all up, to relinquish lethal control from our children’s loving. Look on her! She calls your name! Look at her! She pleads for your feet to sense her tapping! Oh! This riddle is too backwards for there to be an answer, at least one that’s worthy of a creation we cannot fathom! Pray you dance… © 2011 by mark prime