Self-posited Prayer

Unforeseen flowers bobbing a wind's forever heyday...

submerged--as if coral.

I could fit my valley into the shadow, and shadow into

its death with such balance.

What's overcome is sworn to secrecy, formulaic, rotund

and malignant what was prayer...even by all the loose

interpretation it suffocated the uneven,  as unknown

factors of the life it's put to.

Here, as here is always concerned--it seems fruit of

Garden variety grows as to confine its worm.

It is here, as here is always concerned--I turn worm-ward...

to ultimately reveal nothing--linger coolly and repulsively.

We've an aversion to things that burrow and avert grasp--

a reward goes out for the head, or piece of such a thing

from the selfsame head.

Why is it our prayers are sent forth to expel the evils

we've gathered?

Prayer's construct is meant to be singular as it stands...

heartfelt--airtight in its sentiment.

Thus, by such definition I believe prayer is no longer

prayer--as it is here, as here is always concerned.

If you were to visualize such a prayer, the object of

devotion would become the objects of devotion to

overcome, conquer the God appealed to.

As an egoist is devoted to the objects of his/her nature...

as it were, an object may slip, avert the worm of such

prayer.

Hence, what does prayer become when its clasped 

fingers curl under the spell of a blackening orgasm?

Power lust, the bending, curling of will in prayer form

shape-shifts, and is submitted to God as prayer.

A loathsome possession of plummeting powers feeling

for themselves in adoration at every odd, and odder

angle.

As prayer was meant to be the prodigal son/daughter's

offering to the disclosed, yet undisclosed infinite...

here, as here is always concerned the line lies to its end

to forego what is endless...unforeseen flowers

bobbing a wind's forever heyday...submerged--as if coral.

Of prayer, now--clasped hands die upon one another,

come to seperately...without even the capacity to unify

such experience.

O hands of duality--meant to meet of prayer...kiss of life,

for kiss of death.

Such hands are fit for a prayer viewed by a shaman upon

the deepest cave wall, fireside.

As if two serpents deeply kissing, open-mouthed...world

to world experience is offered up...vollied--interlocked

by and by...till God intuited as to appease such intimate

impossibility.

Who, or what could wish to keep at bay such words of

being...thereupon to release them to The Word?

Why...none other than we, so cherished by our

incomprehension it's founded us...and thus we must pray!

These two hands taken as token...as it is here, as here is

always concerned--I could fit my valley into the shadow...

and shadow into its death with such balance.

Konstantinos Mark

Reviews

[...]

. this is an epic ... perhaps your magnum opus ... and of course ... since you are the writer of this piece ... i don't think the word "balance" would want to belong to anyone but you ...