Wednesday’s Prompt (edited 5:39 EST 14.01.21 — changed the acrostic portion to a tanka)

Death is Poetic

Is there justice?

Death? That’s a loaded question for sure.

Devastates loved ones. Enervating willpower. Ascension for Soul. Time heals, no, it is just salve. Hurts so many human hearts.

Death is simultaneously nothing yet everything.

Does death even exist or is it a human construct?

Greg is just a construct — Greg is a name

Marcus is my Identity

Death is certainly not an ending, nor it is a beginning. It is simply a rung in an endless parade of kachina dolls nested like a babushka of ladders, or hamster wheels, as it may seem to sum cycles after cycles in an endless journey

that contains my identity, most of it stored in an Akashic Record for safekeeping till I next get to return home

yet we can hop out of the nest and remain Home in Heaven at the end of any cycle

why instead do we choose to return and endure even more pain?

Further thinning of soul energy in the form of higher vibration cannot be reward enough

Why then, why do Adam and Eve continue to choose knowledge over paradise?

Why does Marcus miss Lindsey so much when Sitara keeps him company and showers him, no, bathes him in love every day, which is more than enough love for me to live out this cycle?

It’s simple — for all the beautiful emotional connection soul-partners have in the most intense expression of Platonic love, we cannot passionately lock lips while our hips are locked by insertion joining intense rhythmic orgasmic love-making.

I can’t cup her cheek and look into and through her eyes at her beautiful soul…

The wailing on the street was a sound that I did not know I could, nor how to, produce. It has emanated from me one or two times since. It cannot be purposely replicated. It is the sound of my soul crying out in pain.

The sound is replicating now but I am controlling the decibels

In Rama’s name I create,

Marcus