Skip to main content

PASSING BY



We breathe less time in our lungs than a clock made of air,
yet Creation grants us enough to knock us over in our briefness, plenty more than we are capable of tolerating.
We can't stand like the forest, or the mountains, we topple in our brevity, trembling as we fall.

Our legs are not trunks, feet not roots, our bravery overshadowed by our frame's willfully quivering bark, less heartbeats than the moth's wings flutter toward the light, time our contrivance, age flouting the curves of our backs to rage at the dying of our own glimmer.

Our lives begin like comets bending their growling radiance toward Home then crash into one another as if destined to skip the celebration entirely.

We cry more than we laugh until our frames are deformed by the tears running ahead of our joy like an impatient brute briefly crashing into itself without familiarity.

However, when we pass by, we leave a sheen where we briefly were, and there's hope in that...



© 2016 Mark Richard Prime


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

ROOT OF

"For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs." __1 Timothy 6:10 It is MONEY, not the LOVE of it that is the issue, the true problem. Love, in and of itself, is never a problem, WANT and NEED, or better yet- the WANT and the conundrum of its very REQUIREMENT for our survival IS the problem, it's creation and our blind use of it is logically the ROOT. In other words, let's leave LOVE out of it altogether and deal with the facts instead. If money were not made by us as a requirement for our survival, we'd find ourselves in a much better position to argue of its need and our want of it. MRP Peace and Love © 2015 Mark Richard Prime

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

Access to...

It's odd to me that the future is accessible to God, but we're stuck with remembering the past, it's untenable. History repeats itself from our obsession with it. I say leave history where it is and instead create something of a present worth repeating.  © 2015 Mark Richard Prime