#altar
****** hush tracing skin in shadows,
sound the depth worthy of our desires.
Pass these sinful wishes upon me—
dive into inflamed seas, name me by it.
Make it real.
Tongues cleaved in ungodly abiding,
lingering, unyielding rhythm — feel it.
Lower your hand and reach for the abyssal,
wake the beast before me.
Weave the heat through the channels,
chant my praise with silence;
release our breaths in violence.
Unfurling buds into nectar coatings,
silver thread, slipping — taste it.
Arise from the dark
into these black arts,
two paintings belonging
on a hinge, sharing the altar.
Mar 1
Mar 1, 2026 at 1:25 PM UTC
Death can alter
Death can change anything at the altar
Death can deter
Death can damage the liver and the motor
Death is powerful
Death is really awful
Death is painless for the deceased
Death can destroy mums and lilies
Death can change schedules
Death kills bookworms, nerds and fools
Death can. Death can change everything
Under the moon. Death can change anything
Death can
Death can easily kick the can.
Copyright © December, 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Dec 4, 2025
Dec 4, 2025 at 11:38 AM UTC
In the small-heart of a tired town, where shadows fold like linen at dusk,
a young poet stacks his altar word by word,
stone by shimmering stone.
His lines rise like incense, thin and reckless,
carried by winds he still believes he can tame.
Beneath that altar, under the wooden ribs and trembling dreams,
an old poet pays the rent.
Silver in his beard, dust in his pockets,
a lifetime inked on the inside of his palms.
He watches with a soft, half-tired smile
as youth builds temples he once built
and worships gods he once knew by name.
The young poet writes constellations
as if the sky were his to arrange
every stanza a new star,
every metaphor a promise to outrun time.
The old poet, quiet as a page turned slowly,
pays in silence:
with years, with aches, with the weight of things he learned too late.
His rent is not in coins,
but in the humility that comes when fire cools to ember.
Yet together they keep the place alive
the altar rising, the foundation holding.
A duet of ages:
vision and memory,
flame and ash,
a beginning standing on the shoulders of what endures.
And in that narrow room of light and dust,
the young poet dreams upward,
the old poet holds the ground
and the future, sly and smiling,
rents space in both their hearts.
Nov 30, 2025
Nov 30, 2025 at 11:17 PM UTC
Oblation for love,
but it's unbearable consecration,
It’s not an altar
when it takes everything
you desired.
For chess’s dark or white piece—
why must it wound another’s peace?
For voids, no creation is needed;
emptiness speaks instead.
For sun’s warmth, so like life,
why must it burn the crescent moon at night?
Now imbalance grips too tight—
two halves never sealed in silence.
The dark embraced with resilience
Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 11:10 AM UTC
H e a r t
reflective altar
P e a c e
supreme r e I g n s
Temple of God
quiet sit
rest
less
ness
f
l
e
e
s
silent S O L i T u d E
new vibration
speaks
V O I C E
of
VOID
Aug 6, 2025
Aug 6, 2025 at 4:14 AM UTC
I didn’t carry the processional cross,
But I carried burdens—quiet, unseen.
While others walked down marble aisles,
I walked through fire, clothed in routine.
I wore no robe of woven white,
No candle's glow to guide my feet,
Yet still I stood beneath the light,
And bore the ache of each heartbeat.
They saw the servers—neat in line,
With steady steps and lifted grace,
But who could see the heavy spine?
That bowed beneath a silent place?
I didn’t lift that wooden sign,
Emblem of salvation’s cost—
But oh, I’ve held a thousand cries,
And mourned the things that I have lost.
I watched the pews with hollow eyes,
As hymns rose like drifting prayer,
And wondered if my quiet sighs.
We have never heard or met with care.
I didn’t carry the cross of gold,
But I bore words unkind, untrue—
The ones that pierced, the ones that rolled
Like thunder breaking something new.
I bore the doubt, the questioning stares,
The judgments whispered after Mass,
The moments no one truly dares
To ask, "Are you okay, alas?"
They carried candles, and I had pain.
They lifted praise, and I bit my tongue.
While incense rose like gentle rain,
My grief within me always clung.
I bore the weight of being there,
While feeling lost, misunderstood—
Still showing up, offering care,
Still doing more than I thought I could.
I didn’t carry the processional cross,
But I carried silence, carried shame.
Carried hopes now cracked and glossed,
And bore the absence of a name.
And yet—I stayed. Through all the cost.
Through unseen tears and faith grown thin.
I bore the burden, never tossed,
And found a small light somewhere within.
So let them hold the cross with pride,
While choirs sing and bells arise.
I walk the aisles with none beside—
Still serving through these unseen cries.
For though I may not bear the wood,
Or walk in robes of sacred thread,
I carry love the way I should,
And lift the souls the world has shed.
I didn’t carry the processional cross,
But I carried burdens, day and night—
And in that pain, I found the gloss.
Of grace, of grit, of hidden light.
"I didn't carry the processional cross, but I carried burdens."
Jul 21, 2025
Jul 21, 2025 at 9:27 AM UTC
A woman stands with her dearest flame
as he looks towards a view of deeper high seas
with his eyes brightening in their pale blue colors
while the pearly foam touches their feet,
pairs of hands touch one another in a silent coveting
for an hour of rest to last till they never part in their
heavenly altar, indeed, chords may toll for an opera of
the cosmos, although he still meets her sight
with his fervor in rise as carnations in waking gleam in
slower motion whilst their gardens of tenderness
come alive amongst the wastelands in a way that
is potently lucid and enchanting.
May 1, 2025
May 1, 2025 at 4:09 PM UTC
Morticia and Gomez gazed
From their card on the altar—
Devotion eternal,
A love fierce enough
To blaze through darkness,
Tender enough
To cradle every wound.
A family photo stood nearby,
Encircled by a constellation
Of crystals:
Amethyst murmuring peace,
Rose quartz pulsing with love,
Black tourmaline bracing
For unseen battles.
Pink and white flames danced,
Their whispers rising like prayers:
Promises to draw us closer,
To fill our hearts
With everything we dare dream.
Jan 19, 2025
Jan 19, 2025 at 7:45 PM UTC
In bitter ink
I dip my feather.
My hands carve out
A weathered letter.
I hold the page
Steady, it hovers
Grazing the flame.
Your name getting hotter,
Til it crumbles to ashes -
Catching fire at my altar.
▪︎ mica light ▪︎
Aug 8, 2023
Aug 8, 2023 at 4:55 AM UTC
king of rats
mediumship, situationships
dreams showing me your daily slips
your kiss with her, your lips on his
your hands on him, your striptease
pretty please you begged me
pretty please you strung me along
all along, declined your calls
thank god, he had some sense
thank god, I never sent that text
thank god, I let it drift off into the ocean
nature will take its course, I will heal my corpse
writing stories until my dreams show me
the next thing, my next path
I will align, I build an altar, a waft
crossing the waters, no knife in my back
May 18, 2022
May 18, 2022 at 8:57 PM UTC
So, again,
this bleak little altar
breaks down sobbing blood
"Have I not given enough?"
it cries, and within,
a rose-kissed goddess with her ash-white skin
rakes a single nail down
the wounded, old walls
"No," swirls a viscous sunlight,
sweet and smooth,
"I demand more."
and the whole being
shivers—
May 16, 2021
May 16, 2021 at 6:32 AM UTC
I pray for a lucid dream tonight,
In a sky colored carpet floor,
Seasoned with bluish tulips
on the ground,
In a pure white long dress,
decorated with pearls,
with happy people beside,
Seeing tall pine trees,
With a calming cloudy weather,
Bits of sunshine
that balances the mood of the setting,
Singing behind the white cottony curtain,
Someone's listening
and waiting for me,
Curtain opens,
Ended the song,
Take down the microphone,
I see someone from a bit distance,
A sudden music played,
That made everyones happy tears fell
and touched,
I walk towards where the man is,
Blurred, but as I go forth to him,
Little by little,
He is getting clearer
From afar, I know
That it is you,
Waiting,
At the end
Of the altar.
-A.M.
Apr 24, 2021
Apr 24, 2021 at 4:22 AM UTC
i think the worst thing you can be
is afraid
worshipping at the altar of fear
is how man is ruined day after day
locking hearts in cages
is the act of a coward
and yet...
and yet.
everyday i am afraid
of society
of the facts about myself i bury and suppress
i kneel before the thundering clouds of fear
and submit to them
but one day soon
i think i may
stumble on
even as anxious lightning
strikes me at my core
i'm trying not to be afraid
and maybe you could call that bravery
Dec 10, 2020
Dec 10, 2020 at 4:10 AM UTC
Behold the dreadful Horns of Red
The Beasts who trample o’er the dead
Who roar and gore and raise their heads
In challenge to the One who bled –
The One who willfully was pierced
Whose will is strong, whose love is fierce
Who crushes Altars men revere
That they may see through their veneer
.
May 24, 2020
May 24, 2020 at 7:24 PM UTC
Colloquially bent
With a positive alignment
Breath without falter
That’s what I put at the altar
Visions of what I wish I could be
But that isn’t me
I’m sorry
And for what I may never know
Feb 26, 2020
Feb 26, 2020 at 2:20 PM UTC
She worships you. Your sinful indulgence and all.
She laps up your grey blood
and nourishes her flab on your staleness.
On her weaknesses and confessions you elevate yourself.
Higher.
The altar cracks.
She darts to heel your splinter but her limbs are broken under the collapse.
Upset at her lack of agency and engrossed in prayer she drowns herself in her own tears unknowingly.
In the end your ***** amassed.
An unexpected end to a story of fatherly shepherding.
See not every story has a Noah and his Arc,
most end with the egotistical on the altar, and the saints martyred in the gutter.
Sacrifice is still bloodshed.
Aug 11, 2019
Aug 11, 2019 at 11:58 AM UTC
Sleep stands at the altar of today’s sacrifice,
Knife poised to plunge at the heart of the matter,
Knife poised to plunge at the heart of the matter,
Knife poised...
May 4, 2019
May 4, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
All my life I have kneeled down at your altar
Sacrificing my innocence and self worth
A lamb who's blood would gain me favor
"the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist"
Yes, I worshipped you like a God I was afraid of
Old Testament wrath brewed in our home
And I readied myself to **** what I loved
As Abraham would, as sheep do for their shepherds
For I knew my creator loved me, and called me love
"For he disciplines those he loves, and he punishes each one he accepts as his child. "
By the stripes inflicted upon me I would be freed
Of this shame and unworthiness you bestowed
But it turns out "Father" does not mean "God"
Sometimes it just means "alcoholic"
Sometimes discipline just means abuse
My faith is now placed in me, and the God that made us both.
Jan 27, 2019
Jan 27, 2019 at 11:20 PM UTC
She laid her head on the altar
wrapped around her arms.
Her heart was covered in
pressing pains and thorns.
She cried and cried for hours
until the altar's wood was clean.
Her arms sweaty
with tears in between.
Her tears seeped into her soul
as He touched her heart.
She felt better
and she knew that was a start.
Nov 23, 2018
Nov 23, 2018 at 9:53 PM UTC
I tremble before you
At your alter
For lives unreached; all shall falter
Craving touch
Falling into clutch
Sweet lease
Shown to be brief
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 11:55 PM UTC
the strength in you
is voraciously eaten
by the soul of me.
your hands introduce
the touch of messiahs
to my frail , battered skin.
the tips of your cosmos
trace my spine
where your lips soon follow.
I am an altar.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 12:01 PM UTC
We ply our trade pretending that we matter
avoiding death, prophecy much sooner than the latter
our hearts on sleeves, and feelings held up high
another love is born, but eventually, must die
We push on through the storm, praying to see another day
wishing all our problems, and faults won't get in the way
every breath we breathe leading unto the next
hoping that one day our spirits, souls, are fixed
Broken down and leaking love as water
unforgiving self, allowing us, no quarter
confidence, self worth, always set to falter
used and riven, sacrificed, at love's
****** altar
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 12:02 PM UTC
It is not possible to erase
Those thoughts, that pain
Those tears, that anguish
Each time i touch them
They awaken again
Like fire from a slumber
Let’s dip gently in goodness
In smiles, in God’s glory
In music, in nature
A little bit here
And then some there
Some sweetness
Some love
Some beauty
Dissolving
Moment by moment
The saltiness of tears
Cleansing the anguish
Healing the pain
Drowning in goodness
All darkness and shame
Tears appear once more
Sweet like a smile
Wrapped in inexplicable joy
Our heart blooms
And offers itself
At the altar
Of peace
Dancing
with love
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 8:18 AM UTC