Skip to main content

STORIED TONGUE


I.
There are so many stories
So many tales woven of the tongue
So many truths within each and every one

Truth in the spirit it totes by our flesh
Bones acting as stilts to our unfolding marionette

Why should we deny our purpose any longer
The elixir of spirit awaits our song to grow stronger

A story worth repeating
a tale told in Heaven
A fleeting legend
best we create a story
worth repeating

II.
You and Me, We
scribes in the making
A miracle by the collection of Life's awakening

Are we prepared to raise the stakes in our creation
Fledgling miracle-makers with a loving manifestation

Let us Love and Cherish, Forgive and Forget
An echo that comes 'round again we shan't regret

Live Love Laugh
While we're breathing still
The truth awaits ours,
then God's unfolding

Oh my God... I am,
We are the Godmakers
Shall We, with Me, create a miracle for God's sake

Change your minds about Me in your dance
Walk with Me and give me my second chance

I promise you a Heaven with God entering in
Like an accordion, inhale, exhale, begin




© 2016 Mark Richard Prime


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