Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mark R Prime Feb 2013
Who are these children, daughters and sons and aunts and uncles and nieces and nephews, knowing their (H)eartH is the thing they need get to know, beneath the feet, above the peak but not so high that you lose yourself and crash too soon (and frequently). Me. Who else?

(To hear you say it, you have Jesus in you, scribe!)

I have many spirits within me, I’ve imagined them as those figures we view within our reality to have tried to make a difference for Love and Creation, they are many, I am one, with you and you and you and you and you and you and you, this story shall not end! It is not mine to do so, it never has been…

The spirit enters as I exit its dance to breathe some fresh air beneath my habit’s swill…

The spirit behind the blond hair, the sunlight dancing through it like an alarm of knowledge of his suffering that may surely be beyond what I had allowed my self to become. Speak to him or let him be in his realm? It is an easy choice if I believe I’m dancing with his story, his search for Love his search for inner peace was summoned through me to his loving spirit, no more charade of fear, no more charade of innuendo, the truth has set me free within you. I chose to take everyone and all on a journey that was not my choosing, so who knows what is decided by me and what isn’t “supposed” to be, let it come and smile and laugh and love and live like there’s always a sunrise tomorrow…

Now I’m bowing to God and Love, to Forgiveness, in Peace and with great and mythical joy of having finally found out the **** truth! Boom bingedy bang bang! The truth is what we make it, and I know it beyond my nose, beyond any sense of a system built to self destruct spiritually that it might then reset its clock and continue down this path of vengeance. Release me of such fantasy that I might rumble up in protest for how we’re choking the (H)eartH and destroying the Heart(H) by not listening to one another’s beliefs and finding its fullness of Love reflected in your actions, thoughts and words. I am a tri-fecta when I’m breathing my prayer…

Nothing to be alarmed about, not in the least, really, but I imagine there are those that seek to do the union of God and Love more damage than is soon to echo back its reply of there is no fear within the union, so Love will be sure to win, then they can stop imagining they’ll inherit hell instead of Heaven, well not on my watch, I can guarantee.

(How could you possibly guarantee that where you are is Heaven?)

It’s heavenly. It’s truth. It’s Love. It’s Forgiveness. It’s Laughter. It’s child. It’s youth. It’s our brightest imaginations summoning the fullness of their Love-

(Traffic swoops its talon’s through me and the truth is born of industry, the lie that money can buy you happiness! You’ve stripped enough of our will to be, just be instead of bombard ourselves with our foul human stains upon the grounds fabric, noise born of fear, the fear if never knowing why on (H)eartH we’re here! Boom shack a lacka shack a boom boom go her hips in motion toward Heaven’s escape from the truthof what is unknown beneath the feet, unexplored anymore save for her profit to a slim few, she’ll not hesitate…

Love will win out. Love is the strongest spiritual fiber known to humankind. Bar none.
Chica Baca laca maca....et cetera,
Where the lady sunfish are gold,
And  are truth tellers,
And the chain pickerals are bold,
And truth be told,
Those chains could not hold,
For Chaca Baca laca maca... whatever,
As Lake Unabash is known,
Was more humble when it was cold.

Baca daca lacka Baca Goo,
In the native or Lake Unabash will do,
The green male sunfish had electric gills,
Like neon lightning went up through,
But now wear a pumpkinseed coat,
So fall color is always new,
And the lady bass jump in the boat,
To tell the skipper where to go.

Shooka booka lacha nooka....
Or just Lake Trudeau,
The old catfish still fly their whiskers,
But only at night in bubble whispers,
For all the show is during day,
When a mother musky eats a duckling on its way,
Then to a fisherman turns to say,
I am a truth teller,
And you men have had your time!

Chaka ooka alla moola,
Or just Lake ****** truth be told,
Was more humble when it was cold,
Now the water recedes the lake,
And with summer lasting later,
"Hey how ya doing" from a stranger,"
And now new to Lake Annoy,
The alligator fills the void.

— The End —