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Men Without Eyes


Men without eyes will go out alone, shatter the portrait downward and to the jackals offer pennies of our jaded wish. Does anyone understand this? Have we thought of our lovelessness?

Behind our last breaths of our unfortunate disgust, the fear-fouled goodness, the bleeding run through, the repellent nationalist, the deviating line in the sand, the scraggly-toothed oppressors, the slipshod parishioners, the depleted silvery-white, the dabbing stroke of agony, the bleakness of genocide, the onslaught of despotic ideals, the limbless industrialized slavery, the brutal sacraments of hypocrisy, the barbed fruits of empirical reckoning and the headless optimism of whole ruination... Does anyone know what I am saying? Have we thought of our collusion?

O! Let us anoint our occasion of peace! Revolt of this, the master’s haunt! War should be our slave, not our medication! Not a haggard monster to move about or flaunt!

Starvation can better be murdered than the humanity of our soul. Hate can better be slaughtered than the hands of our hopes. Oppression can better be hollowed than the eyes of our love. Abuse can better be removed than the heart of a child.

O! Let us anoint our occasion of peace! Let us look to heal rather than conquer, to gentleness instead of extended battering, to the bird of lasting peace rather than the beast of endless wars!

Faint are the solemn cries of this, our ending. Faint are the urges of this, our sustenance. Faint is the hope of this, our dissent. Faint is the scratching of death. Faint is our longing for life, love and laughter. Shrill are the men without eyes.

© 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

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