Skip to main content

The Word and the Scribble


I mean who wants hell? Who really wants to continue to writhe and gnash our teeth in ignorance, pull out our hair for not knowing, for not remembering (there is no difference), and burning evermore in agony because another believes it to be?

Our beliefs are most powerful, my friends, if I had only remembered in time to save the (H)eartH from the myriad of transgressions upon her soil, I might feel better about this revelation. If we believe it, it does come true. So if your version of God is hunky dory with you and yours, then by all means, send yourself to heaven and be lord over hell for eternity right along with the rest of "humanity"...

We are children of God, we must begin to understand that idea. We, my dear friends all, are meant to be heirs in Heaven, so why not begin now in your evolution to Love and Forgiveness? We are meant to believe in something, otherwise we'd be a black hole, untapped, unimaginable and ready to evolve...

(Where are you going with this, scribble?)

Riddle?

(No. Scribble, Scribe.)

Make tht "Scriddle" and you've got yourself a deal! "Scriddle" sounds like laughter, so, why not call me the "Scriddle"?

(Idiot...)

Maybe, but for now I'm in prayer with the loving spirit, and where from there is up to all of us, not just a few or some, but all of us as one!

Boom bang and boom bang boom, see the truth light up the room! Bang zippety bop bing, boom bang bing, bing, boing, I new not this morning where I'd be going, but my dreams have come to greet me smiling...

(Oh my...)

© 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