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And Then, Love Mournfully Resets the Clock


Three things have happened. Love has found me, love has wed me and now she's heard my call for peace. Peace, not stinking wars for greed, not grand tales of God as roadmap to battle another God, peace.

You're echoing nearer more of this than meets the eye, even if you don't see eye to eye, you're brothers and sisters, family of the one seed..

Yes. The spiritual battle is me. I am a wingless steward of earth. I am love. I must end my pride and bow to what I know, before what I believe is truth sleeps evermore.

What of truth? Not your belief, but the knowledge that’s surfacing in you now of where you are?

It's not truth it's instinct. Truth never moves, it is immovable. Belief, on the other hand, is meant to grow toward love. I should have no need to speak another word of belief if I'll speak of love instead. I'm a victim of a prideful imagination.

You think you're a victim, imagine how the earth feels? She knows only to well of your use. Humankind it seems has forgotten too much to begin to think of the truth again. Love's being defiled by the human stain, the last refrain of broken strings, the wind blows now... 





© 2012 by mark prime


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