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The prosetic flourishes and the made up words as we go.

(Did you say prosthetic or phonetic?)

Prose- etic. A made up word.

(Did you find me enough to satisfy your curiosity?)

It is not curiosity, finely-feathered, hold it together, as I make my way along. God is with me and I am with God. The Spirit is with me and I am with the Spirit. Love is with me and I am with Love. Peace is with me and I am with Peace. What is beneath the surface around here I might find favor in the howls, but they are an act, a profoundly sad act meant to retrieve something from Me, scheming through tears and stupor. I am here. The dance is just getting started.

This phantom with nails ready to scrape, stand down your scheme, it is known now, child. When you have cried it all out, breathe and let it be. The charade is tiresome, but your grief is oddly real. Breathe in as medicine for your demons, breathe out the medicine of love's forgiveness and peace's instinct of truth.

© 2014 Mark Richard Prime


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