Love Is a Symphony

Love is a symphony, is it not?

The night began to move beneath the mist and the trumpet sounded in Heaven! The call to Love is a symphony of sound and it is hidden from us by our machines and wars and Godawful thoughts and rage. Let us fall away from hate and indifference…

(Silence...)

Can’t everyone see that I am in need of a listen, if for nothing else, the fact that I believe this belief is Humankind’s wish, as are all wishes. Yours and yours and yours and mine and yours and yours and yours and- it is ours to create! Ours! Rejoice that we are able creators on our way to wherever...

(Ask and you can bet your worthless dollar, you shall receive it…)

I feel I must have your ear, one way or another. I am begging you my friends to help me solve this riddle.

(Discretion is the better part of valor, is it not?)

Go ahead and be discreet, just help by engaging me…

Question what I write. For the love of all and even me, engage my dancing spirit and let’s get down to business!

(Why challenge the will of God?)

Are you saying that even God is beyond reproach? How about beyond approach? Are we not meant to be, born as loving spirit carriers of the Creator, to question so that we might learn? Are we not born to question, thereby making the answers even plausible? Ask Creation for its Love and Creation will deny you for Love is not to be had, Love is.

(Pray to God, pray to Creation that the answers come forthwith and a Heavenly Home is yours if you'll act upon your own will. Don’t be afraid of the results of such a journey, only be afraid if you do not act upon what you know before you ever imagine acting upon what you believe.)

If I do not begin to question what I know and what I believe equally, I will have learned and accomplished nothing…

Love, my dear, can and will conquer all. We are tamed by the fullness of one another’s love, but we must not succumb to failure, we must rise to create our own Heavenly Home…

I must engage now and change the outcome of my own belief, the Creator will have its own will, nothing in the least that I can do about that, and, if I create paradise with what I know, I think I’ll be less apt to imagine what Creation truly has in store for me after I pass on. But now, you are my Love. Now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and now and an evermore of now.

Love…

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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