Skip to main content

WAILED THE THIEF


Boom, Boom, Boom goes the bomb, wailed the children with shattered lips lying underneath the blotted sun. Love! Love! Love! Bring love booming without agony, without death. 160 shards of loveblooms. 160 shells of peace. 160 shrapnels of joy. 160 portions of worship. 160 drones of affection. 160 hearts thumped their last. 160 minds changed. 160 mouths no more in laughter. 160 leftover innocents. 160 divine loves. Boom, wailed the thief! Love, wailed the children! 320 hands no more in prayer. Limbs left to quiver. 320 tender eyes ever closed. Boom, wailed the thief! Boom, wailed the thief! Let me wail love 320 times each day, howl until I too am leftover pieces. Boom, wailed the thief! Love, wailed the children!

Love, help us...
© 2011 by mark prime


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

........•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...

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

Per Plex Ed

            PER+PLEX-ED When you haven’t heard the truth in so long, when you do, it rings a most familiar s ong. That’s the human song, the truth rolling out exactly when it should.      (If a truth is told and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound only to the one that spoke it?)    Yes, but our ears aren’t strong enough to hear it.     [a perplexed silence] © 2017 Mark Richard Prime