I’VE WORN THE DIE DOWN TO SO MANY CHANCES, LEAP, GO AND TELL THEM WHAT THEY WANT TO KNOW

There’s still a side of me that wants to scream. Humankind is a self-destructive beast without regard to their surroundings. Why do I think that I must imagine to know beyond the shadow of any doubt that my belief is somehow truth?

(Truth?)

There’s still a side of me that wants to scream. I love you with all of my heart, save for the part that I know and not the part that I believe. My eyes were opened and I found solitude in her quivering limbs.

(Sleep now, Mother. We’re here, God and I.)

And there’s a side of me that shows less fear. I’d like to keep that part, if I may? I’ve jumped ship and I’m swimming for my life, which belongs not to me, but to Love, and the part that’s me and my needs… diminishes by the day.

(Man overboard!)

No. No. Bless you, but I’m not overboard at all. I’m in Heaven.

(Man overboard!)

Ha! I like your game! Shall we play? Or might we begin our duty to the eartH, to Love?

(Man overboard!)

I’ve warn the die down to so many chances! Leap! Go forth and tell them what they want to know! My belief that this is Heaven and I’ve been a damned fool for ever having imagined it otherwise!

(Bow to what you know, not to what you believe.)

But my belief is what I know. No different than any other human. She cries out for me to see! Oh! For the love of God! Release her from beneath my human grip! Summon her cliffs! Summon her mighty redwoods to use their grandeur to highlight an awareness I’ve not had for far too many lifetimes.

There are so many beautiful beliefs I’ve traipsed, but none of them brought me truth. Love’s spirit has brought me to my own dance with Love, my speech now roars! My eyes are watering my green and blue Love, Heaven. I pray, Love, that you might spare me from my own fear, from the things that are human, from the things that are habit? Banish me evermore, each time it is repeated, and so on…

(Silence…)

It is I. It is I, echoed the river to me, the tree to me, the soil to me, the dark soil full of worms to me. The ground is sacred, it may not be all equal when it comes to planting, but we must reach back inside the loving spirit like the soil and grasp the instinct for survival…

(Go forth and develop the idea of the personification you have of eartH and find a way for man to once again dig with Love.)

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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