CONFESSION ZERO

P erhaps they should put more life into their sermons and simply douse the flames... You think I'm such a man as to render truth in your questions... Yet... here I am! Come and help me soar!   All of us earning our wings! This story goes without saying, at least if not first through Love and then through Peace, I am him. I am.  Peace and Love be among your bliss from such acts... Love's caught up in God, I'm simply a man, because I didn't remember being given a choice. It is righteous humbleness well deserved by  Mark Richard Prime .  Then he needs to find a way to remain in prayer as a tool for Love and God's favor, Peace, I am not alone! Rejoice and tremble at the thought wound around all of that? The coffee is being poured for fellow spirits as we speak...  Express Coffee and More , Swing dancing at The Art Exchange!  I'm blessed! We are growing, evolving with the One Spirit... I sense it, you feel it... not a bad trade off if you...

O the canopy of affection behind our paintings, the masterpiece of birth, the beauty of child, we must remember them, can't forget. They are the truth of our journey, the lace in our garments rendered as small stewards for our joy. The shortness of our breath comes slowly, long after we've taken our first. we are the breathing child of Creation's slant, of God's grant of an exactness of birth. The truth is we love, mean to be kind, lose our way and then come back. This lovely child was a gift, a smiling, writhing boy, one of us, one of thee, one of all, the children are maps to our first breath. The end of one signals a new beginning, not a death, but a fresh birth, a return of our flesh-born wealth, truth, come manifest, take us back to Peace. Remember this child, remember them all now, for without them, we feel alone, would be, too, crestfallen in our quake, sorrowful, needing to laugh. Remember them! They are We and Thee, a painting of...

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. © 2014 Mark Richard Prime