Skip to main content

Birdsong on Ice Age Trail

Mark Richard Prime... The birdsong returns to Me, the ice melting away bitterness, birdsong as backdrop to evolution's gait, all going along as planned. Neighbors, all, I'm getting nearer to Home on the surface of gravitational Love and Peace, it's an ocean, land and sky... full of Heaven. Call to us, oh divine calling! Send us shivers in your reach and knowledge, your song of truth, just before our eyes fail for the last go around, doomed again to make mistakes. Seems wrongheaded to have ever allowed such a thing to become us instead of fighting it, this consumptive model of breathing. Better reverse course and come with me, best exit strategy in the world, exit hell, enter Heaven, begin. © 2015 Mark Richard Prime, I am.Mark Richard Prime
© 2015 Mark Richard Prime, I am.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

........•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...

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

Per Plex Ed

            PER+PLEX-ED When you haven’t heard the truth in so long, when you do, it rings a most familiar s ong. That’s the human song, the truth rolling out exactly when it should.      (If a truth is told and nobody is around to hear it, does it make a sound only to the one that spoke it?)    Yes, but our ears aren’t strong enough to hear it.     [a perplexed silence] © 2017 Mark Richard Prime