CONFESSION ZERO

What Was That You Said? How can I say no to her? She’s been waiting so long for someone to speak, she’s been chained and bound, she’ been red and found, but not by man, she is his birthplace, he cannot escape! She’s Mother, Grandmother, Great Grandmother, Love. We are not what we were only a moment ago. We’re aloft, afloat toward our fear and not our memory. From our fear and not our memory come our sins. Fear cannot be memorized or drained through the fibers of man’s flesh. Beneath the sadness she’s been writhing. She’s been turning corners hoping the light stays green. Oh, my Love. I am here. Don’t cry. Your children are dying. Music skipped from the quake, what was that you said? Your children are dying. I thought that’s what you said. Yet you’d rather not cry? You’d rather make light and have been for nothing? There are no winners when everyone’s running for their lives. The game’s rigged. Heaven, where we stand, our feet, without direction, wander with the win...

I found Love beneath my feet. I dreamed I stood upon her neck and she was wheezing from my footprint, my thanklessness, my pride swollen, my desire to own her. I found Love beneath my feet. She asks that we end our parade of her, our pageant that mocks her grandeur, her love, her authority- The shocks went down my neck, they sent their waves into my belief. It floated freely for what seemed like days, it sent me earthward and greeted me with kisses, then slammed me down! She unpainted my portrait and woke me up to say, I love you. I love you. I love you. Love chants her will in the wind, her desire washing up on the shores, her love serenading us with Her Majesty. I found Love beneath my feet. Go, tell your sons and daughters to look beneath them, then bow. © 2011 by mark prime

I wouldn’t stop even if I could. I stop now and there’ll be hell to pay. She started whispering to me her scream as she hoped the answer would be seen. Who am I? Where did I go? Am I really in heaven disguised as hell? It is sweetest when everyone comes to the dance. ~ Love is not to be divided as in shares, it is to run headlong into each and everything upon her. She is heavenly, mother, grandmother and great grandmother. ~ And so to be them in my song, the whole of life undulates with all things, the clip of a rapid-fire fiddle to the cello’s measured breathing, sorrow to sudden delight of lungs unaccustomed to such pleasures. Oh, violin! Won’t you weep more for joy? Weep more for desires, greed, and laughter, leaving you out in the cold to laugh last? ~ Still a child inside to be forgiven, so play your chords to the ferryman, cry your eyes in her embrace evermore, forgive. Still, a child, quick, begin your tap, tap, tap, tapping and forget not to weep and weep and...