The (H)eartH is a playhouse built by Love

The (H)eartH is a playhouse built by Love.

To me, in this loving belief, I've emptied any unneeded fears that might have tried to snuff out the light of Love’s truth, and if others have ill intentions toward any “fordrawn” conclusion in this belief, save for everything's going to be okay, when considering the one exactness, then it's on them. Belief can't end, it must continue until Creation says otherwise. Does that make sense?

It is not mine to control, it is Creation, it is the (H)eartH, it is God, it is Allah, it is Jesus, it is our most precious belief turned toward truth that we can imagine.

Ulaeal, unbelievably lovely and eartHly angel love...

Tulaeal, the unbelievably loveliest of angels, Love…

The traffic leaps in now as if to say we hear you. I reflect upon this great fortune within this belief come pouring its spirit before me.

It is you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you and you- and I’m not so sure that we’re not all prepared for this, our dance come latlely! A rat a tat tat and a flippety flip! There’s more than meets the eye in this! Boom bang and rattle tat tat and a rattle tat ting and fade into the sound…

Silence, Love, Worship, Reason and the Truth. All is, or so it would seem to me, to be out of our actual physical control and most indeed within our belief’s sway to lift Love at the level in our beliefs as we imagine Love to be…

Deeds and prayers, actions and words, they must rise and fall accordingly in our worship of what is our reality and of what we’ve created from what was, or is, inside of our beliefs…

The breeze tells me to take a breath and close my eyes to all that is done with the fullness of love, that I see or that I remember in order to then imagine the outcome set to greet me from such dimness.

Let’s converse. I ask that you, of your own accord, tell me of the fearful sorrow and the fullness of Love inside of your own belief, how else am I going to scribe your joy if neither you nor your spirit is near enough to join me in this, the dance of the Spirit of Love?

(What is the sun?)

To me, the sun, or sol, is a brightness resembling the crispness of truth, a freshness that should always remain within our personification of the same.

The wind and birdsong are sending me into the silence of prayer…

Peace, love, laughter, the circle of life. The life of my worship, not the worship of my life…

(ping)

(Echo…)

(Silence…)

(Sound…)

(Love…)

(Laughter…)

(Life…)

A Lifetime of Laughing
A Lifetime of Living
A Lifetime of Loving

…to you, yours and the HeartH of Creation…

(Joyful laughter…)

ROOT OF

"For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs." __1 Timothy 6:10 It is MONEY, not the LOVE of it that is the issue, the true problem. Love, in and of itself, is never a problem, WANT and NEED, or better yet- the WANT and the conundrum of its very REQUIREMENT for our survival IS the problem, it's creation and our blind use of it is logically the ROOT. In other words, let's leave LOVE out of it altogether and deal with the facts instead. If money were not made by us as a requirement for our survival, we'd find ourselves in a much better position to argue of its need and our want of it. MRP Peace and Love © 2015 Mark Richard Prime

read the poem

........•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...

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

read the poem

CONFESSION ZERO

Search This Blog