7.24.12 The Grand Procession of Folly

I must be humble, so that when I face her (H)eartH of Love, I might recall my place…

The characters in this unheard of drama have been rehearsing without their actors…

I’m not God, whatever created all of this is “God”, at least it is so in my full-hearted belief. The most important thing is the Creation. Whatever my purpose is, I must be a steward who believes he’s set to finally know something worth repeating…

A great sadness just overcame me, here my spirit types away in glee at this keyboard while the Mother continues to suffer…

Action is the only thing swift enough to carry my voice out into the open, it’s the only thing I need. A nudge…

Oh my God… It’s been arranged that I come forth and scribe to you this Love-summoned belief, this Heavenly HeartH of Creation!

I will not be a “God”, I will be a “human being”, a “sovereign entity”, an “individual”, yet “integral to the whole”. I am (free)! O! For the sake of Love come forth with my most loving belief! Sing it loud and with a full-throated Love that she might recognize my grief…

I’ve been in hell and it was I, but this is me, who I’m born to be. I can choose to be in Heaven and her gifts will blossom far beyond anything of my god-fouled belief! Yet I say, forget belief for a while, open your eyes and shut off your grief.

…See her now?

(Yes.)

*~*

Full Love has shown me things and let me hear things that have existed all along...

You can’t keep me from praying to what I believe anymore than I can to your own to end your preying.

You meant praying, right?

No. I meant that I cannot pray enough to keep you from your collision. I can, however, speak on behalf of the Mother eartH, Love, and it is up to me if I act or if I simply believe…

With instincts at full throttle it takes a while for the mind to catch up with what I’m experiencing. My heads slammed upside down and this story keeps pouring out from the end to the beginning. …My friends, always know that I love you.

Your children need their father to rise up on her behalf…

The children need their Mother and their Father eartH… Beholden. Heaven. Neverend…?

I’m ready…

The wind brushes past and the traffic booms it’s story. I summon the wind to release my ears of such noise that I might pray to the Mother and Father (H)eartH. Home…

Clean up the eartH and then pray to what you know...

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

read the poem

........•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...

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

read the poem

CONFESSION ZERO

Search This Blog