Rare, These Children

Climb the walls of oppression! Run as fast as you are able! She waits on your bare footsteps atop the HeartH.

The Heart(H) thrums its answers beneath your questions of self…

Are they rare, these children born to war? Am I missing something? Doesn’t the worship of war and the worship of the warrior signify that our species has run its course? Fear is steering our ship into hell instead of Heaven. War is the ultimate murderer. It is the life sentence for the innocent and the guilty- And we wonder why our children walk into schools armed to the teeth with rage? Are you kidding me? It’s not the child. It is us, our warring. Stop…

What divides us? What has the other done to warrant witnessing their children’s blood splattered on the walls? What grave sin has one to commit to top the slaughter of innocent children, children ripped from the Mother’s grasp, parents shrieking, children’s howling scattered about the landscape?

O! War must come to an end! It cannot last for eternity, the eartH has other plans. The eartH will not have her death at the behest of man. We’d have to be complete fools to have imagined our vow to the eartH was optional- how long have we been doing this war after war after war after war after murder after murder after murder after rape after rape and pollution and dis-ease and famine and thirst? Are we not sufficiently weary of our failure to love?

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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SKYFALL

Skyfall... We continue to play along with an unnatural game that has serious consequences, soon we'll find ourselves enslaved without recourse to the system. (Is that true of local charades?) Yes. (Why can't we free ourselves from the system?) The madness of money. (It's not money, it's people, right?) It's both, money and us in tandem, thus assuring money's might and our adherance to its loudness. (Madness...) Indeed. © 2017 Mark Richard Prime

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THE ROCK HOLDS

The rock holds the soil in and from the soil springs the tree, the green of LIFE rolling from the blue, rising to the occasion of itself. . “Be!”, the (H)eartH declares, “Be what you are!” . (We thought we were!) . (We think we are!) . “You are, but not freely, therefore, only a thought, and a thought without much thinking, as if you were scared into it.”, the (H)eartH added. . [a quietude begins, the truth being heard and heeded, grooving to the flow] ~ © 2017 Mark Richard Prime

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CONFESSION ZERO

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