SHE WEPT FOR ME AND I HEARD HER CRY

(Stellar Beam - Spirit Guide)

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…

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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........•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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Waiting for It

Why do they stay there, between war and peace? Sky’s tapestry doles out guns, bombs and rocks while flesh and bone swim away from the ache yet live on as the food for the murder of peace. Why do we hide from the truth as if it were an ogre while death makes a home inside their living and war dispatches a raven to their door, smirking with the teeth of empire? Why do we wait, stooped for another wink? The sky’s drapery has tossed down ample clues, peace is breathing in harmony with war. (Road-maps are useless to blind leaders.) Why do they hold there, hunched in the gloom? Hatred’s bird cackling with bereavement needs end. Are we not rightly dishonored when we fill its trough with blood? © 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

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CONFESSION ZERO

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