Skip to main content

Would Have Been Forgiven


Just go with the flow of ours and yours and theirs and those and they and you and you and me, and these words of Love.

Peace my friend is all I seek, for it is the shell around Love...

No such thing as time! But they suffer still, Mother, Father, Grandmother, Grandfather, Great Grandmother, Great Grandfather, Great Love and God, all guilty of inaction, but the lesson is to end the suffering of all Life and create a symphony of light to lead the way to future generations...

All we need have done is remembered, and our corruption of our food and water and soil would have been forgiven.

(Are you kidding me with that last line, Scribe?)

I died that night.

What night?

I don't remember which one, but I'm beginning to get the lesson etched all around me as if it were skin. I wear it proudly, humbly...

(You, humble? Are you kidding me?)

Hush, you nay-saying spirit and begin to believe in something greater than self!

(Boom boom!)

When does it boom boom?

(Boom boom!)

When does it begin to make sense in silence. The dream's of Life, humankind's escape from not remembering our original purpose...

If you think we haven't forgotten our original pledge, take a gander around you? See anything worth keeping that isn't of flesh and blood and river and stream and lake and ocean and sea and mountain and forest and glade, jungle and desert and loving spirit? Seeing that, maybe then we'll begin to earnestly rectify what it is that we, collectively, have wagered and having been so god-awful wrong in the never-end, unless, of course, we as a collective fail to realize our dilemma because we're too damned distracted!

Pray we clear our heads in time to recognize our great purpose...


© 2012 the spirit of Love dancing through Mark Richard Prime


Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason to carry death there. Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just the sons of Abraham? O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to their stiff-limbed sleep as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet, children dying there. I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow of the patriarch, asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and leave our flesh to time? © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
32 comments
read the poem

Waiting for It

Why do they stay there, between war and peace? Sky’s tapestry doles out guns, bombs and rocks while flesh and bone swim away from the ache yet live on as the food for the murder of peace. Why do we hide from the truth as if it were an ogre while death makes a home inside their living and war dispatches a raven to their door, smirking with the teeth of empire? Why do we wait, stooped for another wink? The sky’s drapery has tossed down ample clues, peace is breathing in harmony with war. (Road-maps are useless to blind leaders.) Why do they hold there, hunched in the gloom? Hatred’s bird cackling with bereavement needs end. Are we not rightly dishonored when we fill its trough with blood? © 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
12 comments
read the poem

Laughter's Grip

They asked me to wait. To wait for God to come laughing, wait on His voice to destroy the golden temples of man, hold my tongue until His powerful breath was upon me, and from His loving casualties I’d at last know the Savior. They asked me to wait. To wait for God to come laughing, wait for His followers to die away their persuasive babble and the murder of Islam to breach the walls of the earth as the many damned souls drowned under holy laughter. “O! The Lord God is looming! On his way with God’s wrath! We are to take up swords and send evil howling back to die their well deserved and slow death! Their faces popped and spattered these words as they fell back, caught in His fiery presence, twisting their tongues into drivel and thrashing their minds in the glory of an Eden unlike any other. And then the snake planted his venom through the laughter of their gyrating madness. Tears emptied their pockets, spirits came crashing , and the anointed rapture of their making grew tire...
23 comments
read the poem