Why has the man I used to be not just packed up his things and vanished? Why does the man I was meant to be have to put up with the man I allowed myself to become?
(The path you blindly followed led you here, Mark Richard Prime. It’s rather simple really. You have yet to fully disengage from the former you. Brain damage or too much fearful spirit, or both, doesn’t matter half as much as you continuing to remember the difference.)
Why is it that when I pray the truth dangles its possibilities in front of my vision with an angel’s wayward glance?
(The path is not straight, Mark. It is curved, it is lined with the demoralized spirit, ghosts that cry out and beg to be heard…)
I’ve found Love! She wept for me and I heard her cry! She gave me her all without asking for anything from me but that I find my worship waiting in her eartH!
(Yes. Love has been waiting on you to find your self and dance your way back to her evermore…)
I am a wretched beast, yet I’ve now only Love in my dance… I am the latest one to pierce Love’s reason, to run my brazen belief across her brow that she might acknowledge my affection as most worthy and swim her fullness of spirit within me, that I might remove the suffering spirits left for her to tend. They’re not hers to heal, they are mine.
(Life, Laughter and Love are three things that you actually needn’t try too hard in order to have. Imagine an existence of only laughter and love? It is before you, Mark Richard Prime, and you must pray it forward to The Mother, the eartH of Creation, Love…)
When I pray, I am filled with a joy that permeates my spirit. I am loving, kind, generous, joyful, righteous, humble and alive…
(Then why would you stop praying?)
To catch my breath…
(Breathe, pray and love. Breathe, pray and love. Again…)
The wind siphons the noise of the interstate slowly toward me, humming its fear near my dance. I sense in it a fate I’ve yet to reckon, a truth that has yet to lift its veil and reveal a loving face. Maybe that’s the usefulness of the power of belief? Perhaps it is useful if I weave it of only Love? It might it be a power whose breadth I’ve yet to imagine? Oh, trickery, thy name is most menacing! Thy path is not mine to travel, I’m too busy navigating the Love’s pathway…
Oh, Love! Will you release me of my burdens, my iniquities known and unknown? I pray you do, for I need to prepare an entrance that leads back to me…
© 2012 by mark richard prime
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