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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?


© 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark and Michelle Prime

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