To All My Fellow Brothers and Sisters

To all my fellow brothers and sisters, I offer nothing less than my love, and to my Home I offer the sturdiest of my belief, that which counts before it gets to know the truth of another. I’m headed toward goodness, whatever it may or may not be is not for me to imagine for if I cannot know, I cannot imagine it to be. I will be wrong, so I am trying my best at being the least bit Algebraic in my thoughts.

(You? Math? Ha! That’s an outright joke! You couldn’t do math to save your life, numbskull!)

And a good day to you fine spirit.

(Cut the crap, scribe and get to scribing!)

I am and you are along my way. Hello. It was most kind of you to dance with me this morning. It is a dance, our turn to make a difference in what we know instead of ignoring the truth in our duality, what we know and what we can’t. We are gnashing our wits in the hell of our making and we’ve begun to see instead of flee, we are standing up for Home, for Love, for all and everything! Let us empower ourselves with our love.

The noise, at first comes swimming my way through the neighboring air. Now I know not the language, but I certainly recognize the loving spirit within it. And so it goes with all of my dances with my fellow spirit, my belief rises that much higher, because I am not in control when I am in bliss, the many fellow loving spirits begin their dance within me, anywhere I go and seemingly no matter how brief. I guess what I am saying I must tell you that I know who you are, much in the same way that I’ve begun to realize who I am and that I’m existing between both the physical realm and again in the spiritual realm, the thread that weaves its way around truth and delivers to us what we need to know instead of what we believe…

(Silence…)

(Echo…)

(Echo…)

(Echo…)

(Echo…)

Equal rights for all, based on our being human and because we’re sovereign individuals.

Hallelujah! I for one think it is the rightful and only just thing to do, love all equally. Let us rid ourselves of fear based on where we imagine we're going. Let us love where, who and what we were intended to be, instead…

Love, peace and goodness to you, yours and the eartH...

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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........•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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Waiting for It

Why do they stay there, between war and peace? Sky’s tapestry doles out guns, bombs and rocks while flesh and bone swim away from the ache yet live on as the food for the murder of peace. Why do we hide from the truth as if it were an ogre while death makes a home inside their living and war dispatches a raven to their door, smirking with the teeth of empire? Why do we wait, stooped for another wink? The sky’s drapery has tossed down ample clues, peace is breathing in harmony with war. (Road-maps are useless to blind leaders.) Why do they hold there, hunched in the gloom? Hatred’s bird cackling with bereavement needs end. Are we not rightly dishonored when we fill its trough with blood? © 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

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CONFESSION ZERO

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