Sleep away the pain of this life

Sleep away the pain of this life - 8.07.12

In my belief...

I've had enough of this outside in story falling out all jumbled up and missing the truth in the flesh when all of our eager words without deeds only manage to punish the air with their foul sway…

The truth is all I truly seek. Who am I, what am I and where am I?

(What of the me?)

Already figured that one out, dear spirit. It’s the “I” that the “me” can’t quite grasp. Why the game, why the plot thickening upon the tree that took a life? I’m done with that story. I’ve lived it everyday and it’s been playing backwards since I was a child, my head got rung up a time or two and flipped “me” upside down into “I”…

Sleep away the pain of this life, lift it from me dear Wife and Mother, Great and Grand Mother that I may lift mine from off of your own…

(Don’t be angry, they were just ushering you in…)

I’m destroying evil that we might dance atop the laughter of the HeartH! It matters in only one duty- stewardship of the Home, stewards for Love’s dancing spirit, God’s of Love, if you will…

I am not the only one, you are not the only one, we are not the only one who breathes as God! Rejoice in that note dear spirits, stand up and dance with me on top of the known beholden, to Love, to the (H)eartH. There’s no doubt it’ll be Heavenly and it will please the one Truth, if the eartH isn’t it…

(Silence…)

It’s now or at death’s cold hand that your choice will float before you without the inconvenience of time or the miracles to erase all doubt, there is no doubt my friends, it is Love that moves my fingers to and fro’, that lifts my gaze beyond the flesh and into the spirit’s dance. It’s both wonderful and lined with the ghosts of deception, present and past…

This loving part of the spirit is having me take your affections and mend them of pain, this spirit is having me take the fear from you and brush it to the wayside and breathe with full Love her heartbroken song…

Oh! Do not yet release me from this dance if it is the will of Love and God. I am not prepared to end this belief, I’m prepared to build upon it for Love, to make our brief stay a testament to the collective will and to affections toward our Home…

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