Skip to main content

I AM JUST TELLING A STORY, I AM MERELY THE SCRIBE, GIFTED IN THE DANCE OF THE SPIRIT, SPIRIT DANCER


YOU WILL NOT STAND BY AS IF YOU DID NOT KNOW.

(Why are you yelling?)

I wasn't, but Why isn't everybody yelling the truth at the top of their lungs!

(Because they don't know it, Scribbler, it's just you.)

It is, huh? I will not give it away. You do what you will with these words and this man, but you will never give away the unknown truth rising up in Me! Do what you will with the story, but this man's not finished by a long shot! Giddy up springtime of God!

There is no need to fear this rising, there is, however, great need to get together with this fool Scribe, he will certainly entertain you like never before, as long as you keep in mind that he is just telling a story. It'll be fun. :)


© 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