Skip to main content

Words Now Seem Useless


Words now seem useless, for they too stem from humankind’s fear of the unknown, and if they don’t, they’ve worked their spell on Love and turned ours into a quivering shell…

O! I weep at her song of unrequited love! Bring me to my knees before her and bring my limbs to cease their consumption!

I beg of our collective spirit to rise up now and deliver Mother Earth from bondage!

We have traveled many miles to end up here. Were we not sufficiently equipped to sense the difference between what we did and what we should have done?

Shame on us if we continue to hoodwink ourselves into some makeshift hell on eartH…

If Home is Heavenly, then Heaven must be Home, and if Home is Heavenly, live, laugh and love, rejoice at the chance to be at Home in Heaven…


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


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

........•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...
Post a Comment
read the poem

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
32 comments
read the poem

Per Plex Ed

            PER+PLEX-ED When you haven’t heard the truth in so long, when you do, it rings a most familiar s ong. That’s the human song, the truth rolling out exactly when it should.      (If a truth is told and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound only to the one that spoke it?)    Yes, but our ears aren’t strong enough to hear it.     [a perplexed silence] © 2017 Mark Richard Prime
Post a Comment
read the poem