I’m Coming Into Just Being, The Outside of My Belief

Hello! I am so glad I'm beginning to choose what’s right instead of what is believed to be.

What did he just say?

Is it worthy of a second thought, man’s word? I must find love along my way, stop praying for riches and fame and start praying for rain. Pray for love to reign king and queen of my intentions and for love to return and spare me from myself. (I forgot about you while searching for you. Sorry, Love…)

I’m coming into just being, the outside of my belief, the new, that framework of time I can’t seem to recall as anything but a song that didn’t keep time, but followed the spirit of love.

Once I was an angel!

Angel?

I've been searching frantically for a truth that exists in me, a truth, a sliver to set my mind to spinning toward my own forgiveness. Poison soil, dying water, choking air- enough! Who am I to ask for forgiveness after I wasted this life and turned it into a pile of shattered glass, only to become the thing I didn't believe in. I've given to the golden calf instead of the earth. Shame is just the beginning. Shame, always and evermore, each lifetime I've been shrinking away from instead of growing toward full love…

Wake up now and resurrect yourself from suicide. You've more to give than rape and murder and war and children soldier's of consumption trashing the earth like she’s nothing to say of you and your raging beliefs...

The defilement of love, the earth awaits my signal, she skulks in the night for any sign of my awareness coming back. I must cease my god-fouled chatter and just listen. I’m certainly not the one to speak to on matters of silence, that's my bride’s paradise, but we must begin to listen nonetheless.

My fortune changed over night. She and the stars had me at awe. The sun and moon held me from my own self-destruction, the birds held me aloft to remember the fragrance of truth when my instinct heard her answer to me. I couldn’t remember the reply. Love, maybe? I was failing and who’s going to listen to me, I’m just another in a long line of others as most of you already know. I saw it, felt it and touched it after such a long time of forgetting who I was, angel, servant to the earth, my only home. Isn’t it time?

Time the guitar comes in with the drums and this message is rocked out to love! Bow down to the earth! Love, dance, weep and pray…

Enough for now. Love is calling me to sleep. Peace, Love and goodness...

ROOT OF

"For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs." __1 Timothy 6:10 It is MONEY, not the LOVE of it that is the issue, the true problem. Love, in and of itself, is never a problem, WANT and NEED, or better yet- the WANT and the conundrum of its very REQUIREMENT for our survival IS the problem, it's creation and our blind use of it is logically the ROOT. In other words, let's leave LOVE out of it altogether and deal with the facts instead. If money were not made by us as a requirement for our survival, we'd find ourselves in a much better position to argue of its need and our want of it. MRP Peace and Love © 2015 Mark Richard Prime

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........•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...

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sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason to carry death there. Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just the sons of Abraham? O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to their stiff-limbed sleep as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet, children dying there. I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow of the patriarch, asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and leave our flesh to time? © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

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CONFESSION ZERO

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