CONFESSION ZERO

She leaned in close, I shuddered with awe, I was the air and she, the ground. Yes. She pursed her lips to mine and I knew it was past time. The clock’s a symbol. The clock leaks time like oil outweighs air and there’s less of it than breath. Yes. (Silence.) Before she releases me to sleep-dream, She needs to tell me something. The time has come. I am ready, prepared to set my Love free, to bridge that which has never been entirely mine. Yes. Fate and the wind taught me that this is my home, Heaven. That this is life's Home, it has always been and will be. Yes. I've Life and Love to sew, to imagine, to hope, to pray, to bow humbly to, to cherish, to believe. Yes. (Silence.) She wanted to make sure that my certainty was well in hand before she left me to my own devices, my own belief! Yes. She told me my purpose with a groggy thud. The echoes have since humbled into my story, into the expansion of roars from other upright beasts bent on self-destruction; the allure of

My days whirl their mist with madness, a madness that’s not mad at all. Call it belief, personal thought or call it love, either way it’s mine to have and to hold, to give away or snuggle up with in the gloom. The fractured light pours over the yard as the sun bows to the horizon, runs its fingers through the budding dusk and bids adieu to another day without rain. Birds flap, as if to cry “It’s time to rise up, Man!” I’m ready to be. Ready to be who I am, toting madness and everything. I've made being and madness inseparable; two rivers leading to a dim grown sea that ebbs and flows with me, my and mine. When will the truth triumph over self? Have I gone too far? Too far gone or come too close? She answers, they're identical. © 2011 by mark prime