Skip to main content

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


Labels:

Popular posts from this blog

........•SHRIEKING MACHINE•........                  •HEAD-LINES•                           •RIP•     ---(“Russian missiles blast Ukrainian military academy and hospital, killing more than 50, officials say”)---    There are no more lessons to learn here, no more beds to hold the human wounded, just missile’s shrieking their grotesque ode, The Death of Humankind! RIP, children of God…    ---(“Hundreds attend Mercer Island vigil, march for murdered Israeli hostages”)---    Dear mourners, this is the brutal vacuum of a genocidal, terror-filled, indiscriminate war-machine made of fear and we are all hostages to its deafening roar! RIP, children of God…    ---(“10-year-old allegedly confesses to fatally shooting 82-year-old man and his daughter”)---    I must confess, this is part of war’s shrieking, children lost with a we...
Post a Comment
read the poem

FAULT METER

FAULT METER    When you get a question wrong you will hear three loud beeps followed by an even louder ticking of a clock.    (Like tick-tick-tick-tick-tick?)    You are half right.    (Like tock-tock-tock-tock-tock?)    You got two halves of it.    (Then I give up!)    You do?    (It ain’t out of weakness, it’s my adhdad.) I understand.    (You understand what?)    That it’s not out of any weakness on your part.    (Weakness, on my part in what?)    Never mind, it’s definitely adhdad.     •    We float, we fly, we soar! We find our wings in each other. We find friends, cousins of the one seed of existence. An existence which never began, but always was, that loves us enough to provide life’s needs, our own, the same. A collection of living peacekeepers upon the surface of the most heavenly example known to them. • © 2017 Mark Richard Prime
Post a Comment
read the poem

Per Plex Ed

            PER+PLEX-ED When you haven’t heard the truth in so long, when you do, it rings a most familiar s ong. That’s the human song, the truth rolling out exactly when it should.      (If a truth is told and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound only to the one that spoke it?)    Yes, but our ears aren’t strong enough to hear it.     [a perplexed silence] © 2017 Mark Richard Prime
Post a Comment
read the poem