CONFESSION ZERO

(Picture From Evil On Two Legs ) All I see are desperate faces, eyes without dreams, minds without compassion and hands without Love, scraping their filth over creation. My own eyes are wet from this misuse. No consideration and without reflection, I've bowed my head, not in prayer, but with such monstrous shame. I see this, my madness, as most tragic, the Love on which my flesh is riding is the only Heaven I know. I find it hard to stomach the cruelty being raked across creation with my own likeness being reflected. Wash it away! It’s too monstrous! Wash it all away from the thankless path! The children are dreading the monster that comes from under their beds that have mommy and daddy’s terrified within their thankless faces. They sense hopeless postures when they look into the empty eyes come screaming, dead hands stroking their worried brows, greedy lips kissing their regret. I see this madness as most tragic, the Love on which my flesh is riding is the only Heaven ...

( Painting by Newell Convers Wyeth from Encore Editions ) There were splendors. The ocean navigated them nearer the plump breast of a new world. Our indigenous, greeting the sailor with smiles and immense warmness. Peace, in this meeting of fleshes, soiled itself with chains of slavery and riches beyond the queen’s dreams. The land, and its worship, was sliced open like buffalo on a red plain. Sky, the sky, the sky doesn’t dance anymore, not with spirit or truth. Of our scourge we eulogize the ghosts of death, of massacre, beyond the new machinery, our lives. The Indian, the child, the meadow, the slaughter of stillness. Can’t take it back now! Can’t! It’s done! Musket, arrow, flesh, the birth of a country, drum... © 2011 by mark prime

Am I not capable of greatness if I’ll but still my tongue and use my limbs and spirits to vanquish the dreadful sword? I tell myself to fear the unfamiliar faces that are found in my reflection. I tell myself I’ve Love to spare while my fists come booming. Do I really need another enemy when I’ve more adversaries than champions? I tell myself I'm compassionate even as the unkindness goes on raging. I tell myself I'm beautiful even as my ugliness disfigures the heart. Can’t I imagine myself vanquished without having to dream up hideous foes draped in fear-stained flags? I tell myself I'm most loving even as hatred’s dagger punctures my scowling lips. I tell myself I'm peaceful even as war slathers blood across the land. Aren't I sufficient enough with the tools of death to bring the blade across Love's neck with minimal suffering? I must begin to tell myself I'm safe even as my own looming death’s unknown. I must begin to tell myself tha...

Something hasn’t just been stolen and it is not merely "democracy", or some other word that means little to Love, that has the power to give it back... My kind cannot steal Love; therefore Love has not been stolen. My kind's minds have been hijacked and holding the box-cutter to its own throat. My kind might choose to demolish the flesh and bone of children, but my kind cannot steal the Love that is born in them, it isn't for sale and it isn't for the taking. My kind can also choose to keep all of the things it has piled on top of the Love born inside of all living things and then scream about a love of some delusional freedom that has been and continues to be offered to only some of my kind some of the time, but not all of my kind all of the time. It has been a very long time in coming, this idea of freedom, this delusion of liberation from the shackles of fear, and it has arrived without my kind! My kind is allowing fear to conquer the will. It has arrive...

(Photo found on Random Quotes of Life ) I’m having a wide-eyed dream… As the weeping willow touches its breathing greenness across her Love, the earlier people dance upon her sacred altar. Barefoot and wearing feathers in worship, they’re held away from cruelty as only Mother, Grandmother and Great Grandmother’s arms can rally, and with open mouths they inhale and exhale her fresh air found breathing through them. They remain silent, save for her Love pursed upon their blissful lips as they pray and their arms invite her love in with an assured pace found only in the recognition of a kinship to all of existence. As they meditate, their minds open wide to kiss her waiting lips and greet her freedom with a breathing peace! They love before they wake. They continue to love ever after their eyes salute her open sky! They never cease to dream the dream in the dream of the dream of dreams. And their children dance and play alongside them. They know that the child is more familiar ...

( My Angel's Presence is Near by Jonice ) They speak to me with broken tongues, with eyes shining as bright as the sun. They look into my eyes for something hidden within me, yet known within themselves, like a cool hand on a fevered brow or a loving caress next to sleep. I want to ask them who I am, but I’ve already been told it’s something I needn't see, the answers to that which I cannot know. Still, I call to them in my dreams and dance alongside their swaying hips. I hold them dear so they might soon share their Love with the new world. They look as if they’ve known me forever, with eyes swimming to the same rhythm as my dreams, with the same gaze of the angels that hover next to me long after I’ve opened my eyes. Their skins shimmer under the morning sun as their wide and beautiful smiles beam a signal, an ivory banner of “Welcome Home!” They summon me into an unknown truth like the fate that writhes in the mind of a jumper, the heart safely tucked away beneath ...

( Occupy NWA ) Occupy them in revolution, but remember what it is to love, so that what remains reflects goodness and not sorrow. Occupy the streets with peace and love and I will have made more of a difference, not only for today, but for untold tomorrows. It is one thing to die and leave behind a legacy, it is quite another to live beyond my casualty that others might paint the future with my radiant death. It is one thing to speak my mind while I'm living, it is quite another to have perished without ever having recognized the courage found in my breath. When I arrived I was just beams assembled from who I was, when I parted ways I was a bridge constructed of who I had become. © 2011 by mark prime