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WE CREATE

Nobody wants to change what you believe, we need to focus more now on what we know so that we can salvage such a war ridden and contemptuous tenure. What were we thinking we were supposed to do? Work forty to sixty hours a week just to survive all those things we create that either have no practical purpose, but to end up in a landfill, or that have no soul.

Careful preachers of "holy" doctrine, what you call gospel may come back to bite you because you didn't think it through nearly enough...


© 2015 Mark Richard Prime

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sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

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Waiting for It

Why do they stay there, between war and peace? Sky’s tapestry doles out guns, bombs and rocks while flesh and bone swim away from the ache yet live on as the food for the murder of peace. Why do we hide from the truth as if it were an ogre while death makes a home inside their living and war dispatches a raven to their door, smirking with the teeth of empire? Why do we wait, stooped for another wink? The sky’s drapery has tossed down ample clues, peace is breathing in harmony with war. (Road-maps are useless to blind leaders.) Why do they hold there, hunched in the gloom? Hatred’s bird cackling with bereavement needs end. Are we not rightly dishonored when we fill its trough with blood? © 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
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