DISGUISED MOMENTS

BEAUTIFUL CHILDHOOD MEMORIES...

those were/are moments meant to be cherished. The beauty of moments like those is that they do not come with metals, purple hearts, or human contrivances that smother the truth in our memories like water poured over our shrouded faces...

I realize that much of this sounds like nothing more than being contrary, if so, then I am the ultimate contrariness of Me, the flip-side to We, the same, yet different, yet equal, a twin of our human collective spirit. Flipped on its head it still makes sense... We need stop doing things so God-awfully backwards!

GRAVITY:

Gravity dictates our beholden.
Gravity holds our attention
Erects our spines
Lifts our hands
Moves our feet
Holds us back from ourselves.

In this sense, Gravity is God.

Call it what you will, its a force to be reckoned with...

Turning away is different than not being with, when one turns away from God, they are turning away from themselves and eventually all others.

There is a nuance of God within such a methodology.

PATRIOTISM...

The subject is overdone, the matter is ignored within such a rigid pen.

All one need know is that patriotism is a crutch for those who refuse to think...

TURNING AWAY...

Turning away is different than not being with, when one turns away from God, they are turning away from themselves and eventually all others.

There is a nuance of God within such a methodology.

OUT OF CONTROL PEOPLE...

I see a human being who is in need of help... despite how the human behaves, they still need our help, and I believe it is ours to rise above it all and remove the "in" from our differences...

Sheep learned to read about the same time the wolf began to write. Then the sheep turned the wolf into a monster with their stories and the wolf stopped writing and began to hunt.

CRUMBLING INFRASTRUCTURE...

If we are building our cities only to have them crumble, we're building them wrong.

Different, varying, yet the same use
Odd, strange, yet the same thing
Suffering, sorrowful, yet we remain
Animal, spirit, yet still unfilled
Different, varying, same...

God left no one. God cannot be ejected. All are with God, lessons, too. Rise to God's occasion, rise to exactness....

I laugh because we are all the same, I cry because we seem to be oblivious to it.

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

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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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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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CONFESSION ZERO

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