Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut
     mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum
     Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros
     autem, ut concilium Dei et conjunctionem
     Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de
     quibus suadeo vos sic habeo.
                              S. Ignatii Ad Trallianos.

     And when this epistle is read among you, cause that
     it be read also in the church of the Laodiceans.


The broad-backed hippopotamus
Rests on his belly in the mud;
Although he seems so firm to us
He is merely flesh and blood.

Flesh and blood is weak and frail,
Susceptible to nervous shock;
While the True Church can never fail
For it is based upon a rock.

The hippo’s feeble steps may err
In compassing material ends,
While the True Church need never stir
To gather in its dividends.

The ‘potamus can never reach
The mango on the mango-tree;
But fruits of pomegranate and peach
Refresh the Church from over sea.

At mating time the hippo’s voice
Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,
But every week we hear rejoice
The Church, at being one with God.

The hippopotamus’s day
Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;
God works in a mysterious way—
The Church can sleep and feed at once.

I saw the ‘potamus take wing
Ascending from the damp savannas,
And quiring angels round him sing
The praise of God, in loud hosannas.

Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean
And him shall heavenly arms enfold,
Among the saints he shall be seen
Performing on a harp of gold.

He shall be washed as white as snow,
By all the martyr’d virgins kist,
While the True Church remains below
Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.

She wanders tranquil as the seas,
Floating on the nimble breeze.
She engulfs her spirit through a field,
Majestically she begins to yield.
She does not stop for man or beast,
And oxygen is her only feast.

She steps upon the sky upward soar,
With effervescent motion in her core.
Dragged from heaven she has sent,
Her love to all, whom would repent.
Roses in her raiment, delightful kiss,
Buoyant floral scatter into bliss.

Auric skin shining gallantly,
Spumescent emotions and comedy.
And with higher heated elevation,  
Climbing ethereal, supernal creation.
Mellifluous yet sepulchral tones,
Emanating from her deep bones.

Radiating miasmal decadence,
Anfractuous motions, candent opulence.
A vision to be seen by only the wisest men,
Her beauty reveals geometric truths and then,
Devours the evil in the souls hidden place,
By the light of love and truth all is grace.

To look upon the oracle in all her glory,
And glimpse her mind that holds your story.
She has the power to reveal our destinies,
All knowledge flow towards her with gentle ease.
I cannot turn away or break her gaze,
I’m lost within her eyes, a mighty maze.

She then speaks to me a message of distress,
Her colossal voice reverberating with finesse.
“You will not fall in love ever,
For you have chosen fear,
When death dances, ceasing never,
The bell comes and combs through here.”

Then I to her, speak my reply politely,
So as to not offend or seem unsightly.
“I do not fear death or his eye,
Nor my shackles wound round my feet,
There is no torture that can make me comply,
Not even Him on his high seat.”

And her to me, her face a placid consideration,
Unperturbed by my defiant complication.
“You ****** fool of a man,
How foolish can one be?
Stumbling in the dark without a plan,
Without foresight or a way to see.”

We could’ve ended there our interaction,
But up I pipe, avoiding distraction.
“And what advice would you bestow,
To help me through my trauma and help me grow?”
Feeling consternation in my quarrel,
And seeing in her eyes something more than moral.

She’s speaking louder, speaking clear,
As she swoops swiftly down gliding near,
“You know in your heart what needs to be done,
But always remember the game, which you haven’t won.
Never lose your creativity,
It is the gateway to serenity.”

God works in mysterious ways,
Or not at all.
I feast on apples all day,
Only to trigger a fall.
Condemned homeless veins take needles to stave,
I, amongst these souls profane
weighed less than what God might save.

Did our savior turn his eyes from us
As Satan spewed miasmal wretchedness?
Rancidity overwhelmed the Heavens
And scorn fell like rain
drowning streets, ***** houses and churches,
and from these oozed the truth of our existence.
Birthed in this putrid slime
we crawled, and struggled, and ached,
and cried, and prayed to whatever god might listen-

Of course,
none ever did.

So we waited,

And waited,

And waited,

For nothing.

Her name was Maddy, a young logger by trade;
Her face still on old plasticized signs;
Please step forward. Welcome to the Highway of Tears,
B.C.’s picking ground of violent crimes.
Girls come, women go, never to be seen;
People fear what they don’t understand.
Isolation lingers near the edge of the road
While moments pause, the unanswered demand:
“We need to know where you went in the woods,
We know you set up camp by the lakeside;
Others arrived and soon a large party began,
Then you disappeared, now others hide”.
Fifty years of spirits watch from high above
The vast expanse of the wilderness highway.
Unanswered questions still linger and remain
With only hints at answers to this day.
“Please talk to us Maddy, are you now safe”?
As our minds wander this miasmal mist;
You will always be loved, our search will never end
Until you come home, are tightly held and kissed.
But her eyes look on from the old plasticized sign,
No hidden hiding place has been found so far.
The mystery continues, our thoughts still focused
On finding you, wherever you are.


http://madisonscott.ca/