The HeartH of Creation’s Song

I don’t know, I believe. But what I am able to know must be champion according to what I know, which is very little in the larger scheme; the flipside to belief, if you will.

I had little choice in the matter when it came to Love. She doesn’t like to play silly games of greed, lust and control. Damnable fear…

Who needs fear on eartH? I need instinct and free will…

With all of the noise, I’m missing the HeartH of Creation’s song beneath my feet and over my head.

I’m inside of Creation, a child yet to be born…

I had to fade out, a breath held deeply, waiting on the truth to whisper an ode in my ear…

I could recall them one at a time, the shadows that tore at my heels to keep me from tumbling headlong. I didn’t run from them, I entered in and did bid them to bend their pleas to the majesty of the (H)eartH of Love…

Mother and Father, child and angel, woman and man, animal, spirit collectors, Love...

(Spirit collectors? Really?)

I shouldn’t just have belief to fall back on… tumble instead into Love and the truth will set me free…

Might I have been in hell this whole time and given a glimpse of the eartH’s Heaven from my upside down wits? By hell I mean the suffering humankind wages upon themselves as thinking beasts, when all they need to know is beneath their feet…

The balance of Love, the flipside, if you will, must be fear, for fear is the only thing that can challenge the truth of Love.

(Fear was designed for just such a thing.)

If I think she is sacred, I must begin my duty, to speak up for the eartH of Love, to summon my voice eartHward that she might only know my sorrow after I’ve learned of hers…

Her song is playing for Creation’s children. I must rise up now and open my eyes to the eartH of Creation and Love… she’s been waiting on me to come around.

Her song is playing, we just can’t hear it over all of our noise.

The freeway drone comes through like a blade set to puncture Love. Nobody else standing up, we’re leaving it up to her.

I say let’s do something unheard of, let’s create Heaven with the things we’re given and stop creating hell from the things we’re not…

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

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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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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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CONFESSION ZERO

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