CONFESSION ZERO

( Artwork by Dan Earle ) I believe we had best prepare them to quell their rage, said the wind. We must ready them for an infuriated ocean, said the rain. We’ll steady quaking limbs ahead of death, said the forest. We’ll pray with our loftiness for man’s love, said the stars. Our instruction’s come too late to breathe, said the dust. I believe © 2011 by mark prime

Upon the edges of The Mother’s temple, splashing her soul that's filled with goodness, snuggling with her unblemished love, rotating like honey-joy spun to form laughter, comes a silent prayer; a wish mad-thrown to Heaven. With all of the hard years fogging the windows, mothers look past the broken dish, the noise, her child’s flaws are made of angel dust that she'll breathe away. Prayers aren’t answered, they’re performed, said Mother. Happy Birthday, Mama...

(The Beginning of the Wind 4 by Jana Sharecky ) The wind cuts through with a chill. I am but a man, one man, I’ve no more than any other. What is it that I may give that others cannot? Might this wind be for me? Might it be telling me to lift my feet, act upon the truths that I believe, leaving room for flowers and thorns? Then the voice said,  No one can vanquish god… © 2011 by mark prime

The sky was clear, the stars glistened with rhythm, the ground stood sacred, openmouthed with sorrow like the gaping of a self-inflicted bereavement, a cheerless revelry meant to imprison truth’s throbbing, a delay of my own failure. The stars then spoke to me, seek goodness in all things.   Resist all suffering. Cleave away all noise that nests within prejudice. Hoist no flag, nothing that separates you from Love's kinship. The wind tossed its breathing over the yard, conjure no name, face, or verse for the creator. Place no demands upon others. Walk in kindness. Love. © 2011 by mark prime

There will be no revelations of the failure to love. Hatred’s come on solid legs; struts of steel, water and wood, bending the throat to gloom. Love and goodness breathe next to this world’s gravity. There will be no revelations… © 2011 by mark prime

I must prepare to live for what I believe, for if I'm not willing to live for what I hold as truth then what good am I, save for death? Whoever accuses humankind of having irreparable misery… Whoever accuses humankind of unattainable importance... Whoever accuses humankind of having no purpose… Whoever accuses humankind of being an orphan… Whoever accuses humankind of being loveless… Whoever accuses humankind of being godless… Whoever accuses humankind of being empty… Whoever accuses humankind of ownership… Whoever accuses humankind of being evil… Whoever accuses humankind of mortality… had best be prepared to live for what they believe... © 2011 by mark prime

If I am to love might it be full-throated and soaring like a songbird? If I am to love might it rumble, cough and spit like an old truck clunking its way home to a gated community of metal parts; a gold and silver paradise of rusty gadgets as far as the eye can see? If I am to love might it be a clamorous breath come forth to lift the darkened sky and hold the weary worn that they might greet me with a lover’s lips? If I am to love might it be a panic, like that of a terrified people, a family who’ve pulled down their shades to shroud their fears as if the world didn't exist there amid the electronic beeps and lights and the grave rumbling heard just outside their front door? © 2011 by mark prime