There was a world renown prophet EDGAR CAYCE was his name.
His sleeping predictions , brought this man to fame.
The only man ever known to predict while in a sleeping state.
The accuracy of his predictions was about 88.8 .
1877- 1945 was when he was alive.
He was a farmer, teacher, preacher, scholar.
He would lay down and fold his hands across his stomach
And close his eyes, into a deep meditation he would fly.
They asked him all sorts of questions while in this state
With the answers he would not hesitate.
He could speak to his grandfather who had passed away.
And with spirit children he did play.
He had been blessed with a gift so rare
That with the world he had to share.
10,000 topics he had covered.
But was known mostly for the cures
For sicknesses of all sorts
And the medications were all store bought.
Five main topics which he covered most
Came from the holy ghost
Health, dreams, psychic phenomena, spiritual growth
He spoke of philosophy and reincarnation
And the worlds future devastations.
He was a prophet beyond his time
And cures which this world had never seen
Goes into the pages of history.
I am the love of a distant heart.
She is the blind ache within my soul.
Hear my plea and tend to my yearnings,
For just one kiss I'd give you my all.
The perfume of you....
The taste of you.....
Fills my mouth with the sweetest of sweets.
Each embrace intensifies
Every nerve within my body.
I worship you each time I made love to you.
Your beauty's radiance is entrapped in my mind.
I am void without the thought of you....
The powerful and passionate desire of you...
The obsession of you.
In the final analysis,
I learned to love you.
Enslaved in the joy and torture
Of your simulated heart.
Let the world know I once loved you.
Let the world know that I care.
I rode a rocket past the moon,
I walked the face of Mars,
And when I tired of the Milky Way,
I took off for the stars:
Alpha Centuari -- Sirius--
Then on, through Galaxies
I rode my spaceship everywhere
--but only in my dreams.
For it was a world of atom bombs,
The Missile Crisis--the Berlin Wall--
Of immolated Buddhist monks
Who protested freedom's fall--
It was a world where spyplanes flew
Across uncharted skies,
and where, because of fear, we grew
to believe convenient lies.
"Not because it's easy,
but because it's hard," I heard --
John Kennedy sent the challenge out
-- and we acted on his word:
we built the world's best spaceship
with more than steel its frame,
not alone by mere technology
but fueled by an Eternal Flame
That illumined our dark tomorrows
and could not be forgot:
we built our spaceship with the blood
of the King of Camelot.
From the blood stain
Like an effigy helpless in the street
Your history rise again
The marble consciences to meet
Every tragedy is a failure of omniscience
Telling the perfidy of our mortal sense
After the revolution had been gutted
By the silence for peace
I stared tear besotted
At the Tutsi long deceased
His mouth aloud in prayer
That this world did not hear
I too lost more than you that day
I lost faith in figures of similitude
Courage melt like ice on sunny day
And for nothing we give all away.
Let me live in world where alone
Your spirit dares the stony memory
Let me anathema to political thrones
From my garden grow your history.
For it was then Medea-Persia that
Scattered us like grains
And thought we were just bats
Blind and certain for one role
That by which the world knew its fear
And drove the old Dravidian dread
Before my little flower shed her tear
Before they left her crumpled, dead.
For long I gaze upon the spectacle of a child
And did not comprehend my own heart blind
To the history that left men empty and defiled
Mark how he represents the landscaped mind
Rows and rows of green like wires or a fence
Soft as innocence, and a pink sky with a white
A cloud singly rolling by. There is a deep tense
In the knowing: purple printed dress, a tight
Face not showing the missing wilderness. Things
In a purple pocketbook perhaps, but not hidden
By clouds certainly, her rawhid mocassin brings
To boot the blue shadows of memory. Laden
Lines traverse her face with time's complexity
The umbrella perhaps extolling life's modernity
But she alone in her simple world bask in light
While her world from history takes its flight.
From ages dark of untrained minds
In the day of God and Man
The equal of inequality brought forth in separation
The souls of poverty and prosperity to stand.
Those of given need, builders of the richer comfort
The workers of society
Given to the ridicule of unworthiness
Placed within the fields of duplicity.
Here begins the ages of servitude
The new world slaves of fashion
Holy is the union of worker for trade
Blessed by the gods of religion.
Centuries vacillate in controvert mercy
Of slaves in body and mind
Markets grow in new world order
The rich no longer defined.
Into the new land America
The servants of every race
Servitude reigns new meaning
The freedom of life replaced.
Within this change in time
One race left to brave
As one more story of old
The last color of slave.
©By: Darren J McMurray
November 6, 2008