Skip to main content

911, what's your emergency?


(911, what's your emergency?)

Love!

(Though I would tend to agree, sir, this is 911 and we're not equiped to bring you love, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with today?)

What’s come of this, our day? Feels like a pale remembrance as if we’ve not slept since or our eyes never fully opened, living near death, over and over, never realizing what we’ve done.

(What have you done, sir?)

The dead walk by our closed doors just as they did before. Maybe years from now someone will open them and see there’s no one there, open the cupboards and gaze at the ghost’s of a bare boned affection that move about in the living dust, in the echoes of our dancing within the last of our days, even if there’s nothing worth remembering or somehow it all got misplaced, perhaps tucked away for a rainy day, a keepsake for tomorrow that never came… or never was.

(Oh. Yes. I see.)

Walk with heads held high. Honor all the love that’s been taken away by your own hand and all those you were meant to touch, or should have smiled upon and embraced, for soon all this will be gone.

(What's your name sir?)

© 2010 by mark richard prime

(Hold while I transfer you to my supervisor-

(Noise...)

(Laughter... 911 supervisor, what's your emergency?)

Love! Love! Love!

(Laughter! - Is this one of those prank shows?)

Love!

(Laughter! - Okay. Okay, I'll bite. Your emergency is-)

Love!

(Love, yes. We've established that, but what do expect me to do about Love?)

Click...

(Hello? Hello? He hung up! That guy was a few phone-calls short of Love...)

I'm still on the line...

(Oh crap! Sorry, sir. Now what was it you needed, sir?)

Love!

(I've got officer Love en route to your location, sir. Just remain on the line with me while officer Love-)

Click...

(Laughter...)


© 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

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...
Post a Comment
read the poem

FAULT METER

FAULT METER    When you get a question wrong you will hear three loud beeps followed by an even louder ticking of a clock.    (Like tick-tick-tick-tick-tick?)    You are half right.    (Like tock-tock-tock-tock-tock?)    You got two halves of it.    (Then I give up!)    You do?    (It ain’t out of weakness, it’s my adhdad.) I understand.    (You understand what?)    That it’s not out of any weakness on your part.    (Weakness, on my part in what?)    Never mind, it’s definitely adhdad.     •    We float, we fly, we soar! We find our wings in each other. We find friends, cousins of the one seed of existence. An existence which never began, but always was, that loves us enough to provide life’s needs, our own, the same. A collection of living peacekeepers upon the surface of the most heavenly example known to them. • © 2017 Mark Richard Prime
Post a Comment
read the poem

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
Post a Comment
read the poem