Skip to main content

Jackals to Howl Their Rage


I need only produce the script of a mad man for the jackals to howl their rage.

Perhaps they’re not jackals, perhaps they’re wingless angels on earth? Maybe I’ve got it all backwards and the stewards of the eartH are waiting for me to release my cackling belief among my brethren instead of suffering for never having believed the one truth…

The singular exactness surrounded by the human imagination is something I shudder to think of, it is sorrow personified…

My love, it’s because I have not yet truly begun to waggle this speech to my family and upon the family of man that they too might sense that where they are is abundantly more important than where they imagine they’re going…

Let me rein in the chaos and rejoice like the children of April in the rain…

Come! Let me bring my laughter. Let me bring my staggering belief to a level like no other imagined! Heaven beneath my feet! If I ever imagined Heaven before, I certainly never imagined it as Home until my prayers began in earnest…

© 2012 by mark richard prime

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

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

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
32 comments
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