MOTHER, may I have more of you, less of your unsolved mystery?

(Love & Peace, child, didn't satisfy your want. You mustn't nourish such dull things.)

I sense your depth of sorrow,
Oily tears sounding like a drum,
Like our paintings of the sun.

(The sun needs nothing from Humankind, however, Humankind needs much from the sun.)

And the moon, ocean, star and sea.
I give praise to the known and the unknown,
Who am I to say what is true? We unfold with time, with gladness, with Love and into Peace. One of these is an illusion.


© 2017 Mark Richard Prime


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