Skip to main content

Lie Flung Back


~LIE~

----"1. a false statement made with deliberate intent to deceive; an intentional untruth; a falsehood. Synonyms: prevarication, falsification. Antonyms: truth.
2. something intended or serving to convey a false impression; imposture: His flashy car was a lie that deceived no one.
3. an inaccurate or false statement; a falsehood.
4. the charge or accusation of telling a lie: "He flung the lie back at his accusers."----

How appropriate that the last part of the definition above has as an example that is of precisely what I am doing and shall do to those deceiving Me.

(What if you're deceiving yourself, Scribbler?)

Then I shall fling it back at Me, and, the way I dance, the truth shall be revealed.

I've done this, I know the truth, I'm just waiting for the confession.

The truth is known without knowing by Me. It took me some time to see that I was dancing backwards, therefore the echo was coming in the same manner. I am now quite good at reading things forward as they're coming in backwards.

I say this as a caution to those who think I'm clueless. I am not.

(What if-)

I'm not. The time will come, the day will enter to the suns illumination. The only question, where will the liars be, within earshot, near enough to see their regret, near enough to sense mine? Will they be far enough away to miss the echo of my truth's arrival? God I hope not, for if they are too distant, or too full of their own miscalculations to notice, they'll have been sightless to what's within Me and deaf to the truth.

(What if you're the one that is blind to what has you?)

Then I certainly hope and pray to God that all others are prepared for me to greet them.

(Silence...)

Fret not, spirit, all is forgiven in the never-end, it will be our dance that brings Me to seek your regret, after that, my sacred duty is to forgive.

(What if you are the only one with regret?)

Then the dance is on Me, and I am Forgiveness and Kindness, and Peace. I am. . It's a win win, inquisitive spirit. Shall We?

(I don't think I'm ready.)

Yes you are.

© 2014 Mark Richard Prime

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

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
Post a Comment
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...
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