"sackcloth" poems
Zeus, your predilection for banishing Titans to Hades...
anathema of them--revolt was theirs of you...Titanomachy.
Enter Prometheus, second generational Titan, brother
to Atlas--Prometheus of whom Titan revolt at first ran
no fire through his veins.
Thus, Zeus was well pleased and employed Prometheus
to put earth to water, water to earth...as to yield man.
As so man was, and was unto Prometheus...a fondness
entered him of them.
And in of passion Prometheus' veins were run through
with fire...fire fought fire--thus Prometheus reached out
taking hold Zeus' lightning.
Hid in a hollowed fennel stalk, to be bequeathed unto man.
Torrents of fire now ran Prometheus' veins, and in a fit of
infamous mockery presented Zeus with two packets of
slaughtered animal parts.
A hubris was born in Prometheus that being so halved
God-man gave itself fully to that polarity...he gawked at
Zeus and bade him choose between the two packets.
One of ox meat and innards coated in stomach lining, the
other of ox-bones coated in its own abundant fat.
Thus Zeus chose, the wretched lesser of the two...
inconsumable ox-bones coated by fat.
A charged and terrible air cut and heavied all direction,
pointing assuredly that Zeus was one given over to the
surface of things, a psychological casualty of his own
vanity.
Zeus overcome with Prometheus' disaffection for the God
of him struck at Prometheus' family.
At length, this assault could not, would not put asunder
Prometheus from the ground he stood.
A certain Haphaestus was summoned by Zeus...whose
directive was writ in torment.
Chain Prometheus to Mount Caucasus...where from on
high a sackcloth cloud shall shake loose an eagle, whose
homing hunger shall have only a taste for Prometheus' liver.
Day in, and day out, that accursed ***** shall be the
bounty of itself!
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 6:06 PM UTC
Hello scarecrow,
with straw hair and sackcloth skin.
Hello scarecrow,
with drawn on eyes and a mouth shut with a pin.
Your close mouthed smile startles birds,
and so they have flown like fast regretted words.
alone I see you in the golden field,
alone I feel you, living heart deeply sealed
Sewn inside your rugged flesh,
a man is watching with bated breath.
For a word to signal his return,
for the fire to signify his burn.
Trapped inside another's skin
trapped, waiting for his life to begin.
Your eyes watch the world go by,
trapped scarecrow waits to die,
trapped the scarecrow starts to cry.
If I could set you free I swear I would,
But unlike you, my skin is made of wood.
Goodbye scarecrow,
With gritty straw hair and burnt sackcloth skin.
Goodbye scarecrow,
With living eyes and a skeleton grin.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 4:13 PM UTC
~
*Ragged mist of stalled horizon,
from dry dock
to disadvantage point
second hand shops
of sackcloth and ash,
they contain multitudes
treading the outside edge
of perception,
rehearsing disaster
in fistfuls of earth,
and the immaterial:
the stuff of pure shadow
a bevy of dead buildings
resemble a fallen actress
in the throes of dance,
with emaciated figurines leaning
forward in the temple,
listening for clues
too far to whisper
work will never resume
on the tower,
and it will remain painfully scanty,
a place to bury strangers
or raise up cholera
the third world summer
sun on sacred walls,
red before orange,
let the rays burn away our sins,
we contain multitudes
but one step inside doesn't mean
we understand anything*
~
Mar 22, 2023
Mar 22, 2023 at 5:29 PM UTC
Never until the mankind making
Bird beast and flower
Fathering and all humbling darkness
Tells with silence the last light breaking
And the still hour
Is come of the sea tumbling in harness
And I must enter again the round
Zion of the water bead
And the synagogue of the ear of corn
Shall I let pray the shadow of a sound
Or sow my salt seed
In the least valley of sackcloth to mourn
The majesty and burning of the child's death.
I shall not ******
The mankind of her going with a grave truth
Nor blaspheme down the stations of the breath
With any further
Elegy of innocence and youth.
Deep with the first dead lies London's daughter,
Robed in the long friends,
The grains beyond age, the dark veins of her mother,
Secret by the unmourning water
Of the riding Thames.
After the first death, there is no other.
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Hence, also in another place, I am naked;
naked; In Latvia, sometimes
from the other way around the adjective; narrow
understanding of the bald;
On the rising piece of alt girl's feet
Do not listen to her empty bare feet, of nature's own *****
again; twelve same & the walls of the square
is the work that they were naked; Glory to you w/ sackcloth,
to buy a few have sprouted sacks; End of all things is taken
the form of; The naked lens of Lebanon
& one simple; simple, the pictures
by the end, simple surface is rough; & more
matter of his dreams; He saw poor; till
naked & welcome, his mind open that
It is clear that there is a plan & having
as deniers of their own to his person
naked, his clothes, stripped them of their private citizens,
out of labor in vain: he was naked;
naked; that which was evil flavorless,
unarmed, have left us; All naked & w/out
any armor protection who exposes himself
to be above; You can not be secured in some,
I was already catered for; depopulated in the man,
of course, that he set out he was uncovered
within the field, naked, in a few words;
Translations
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 8:55 PM UTC
Among the blight-killed eucalypts, among
trees and bushes rusted by Christmas frosts,
the yards and hillsides exhausted by five years of drought,
certain airy white blossoms punctually
reappeared, and dense clusters of pale pink, dark pink--
a delicate abundance. They seemed
like guests arriving joyfully on the accustomed
festival day, unaware of the year's events, not perceiving
the sackcloth others were wearing.
To some of us, the dejected landscape consorted well
with our shame and bitterness. Skies ever-blue,
daily sunshine, disgusted us like smile-buttons.
Yet the blossoms, clinging to thin branches
more lightly than birds alert for flight,
lifted the sunken heart
even against its will.
But not
as symbols of hope: they were flimsy
as our resistance to the crimes committed
--again, again--in our name; and yes, they return,
year after year, and yes, they briefly shone with serene joy
over against the dark glare
of evil days. They are, and their presence
is quietness ineffable--and the bombings are, were,
no doubt will be; that quiet, that huge cacophany
simultaneous. No promise was being accorded, the blossoms
were not doves, there was no rainbow. And when it was claimed
the war had ended, it had not ended.
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I’m Oxfam clothed and head full of henna,
he’s Age Concern dressed for less than a tenner.
Does this make us rivals or more compatible?
Anything’s possible now I’m out of hospital,
picking his path oblivious to obstacles,
catching him in an unguarded interval;
he’s too hospitable to swerve my tentacles
and I too intent on the prey.
“What’s with the titfer?” I bubble up giggly,
kissing his cheek and trying his trilby,
holding his eyes – why should I feel guilty?
If he’ll play Jesus lurking in Gethsemane
then I’ll be Judas flirting with the enemy.
Don’t say betrayal and the double agent,
I’m just a female at my play station.
He used to be nurse and I the patient,
now we negotiate new relations.
Aspiring to more of an equal footing
I’ve climbed too high and abandoned hoodies,
the dreary woollies, sackcloth and ashes,
the words that stuck to my tongue like glue.
Between heavy make-up and credit crashes
I talk too naughty and hug too warmly –
he must take his turn to be poorly,
his turn to breathe in blue.
In minutes the mood will be mellowing:
I shall saxophone and cello him
and proffer the charms of poor scarred arms,
the burnt flesh of thighs and *******
this sin within my second-hand dress
to caress his heart and capture him.
Wind and string go enrapturing!
Pull him close to the edge of the abyss –
I want him to hang on my lips
as I’ve hung so long on his.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 12:39 PM UTC
*A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing.*
Ecclesiastes 3:5.
long, long long
have I known
the contradictory meaning thereof,
for I authored it,
time immemorial
till the day came
when understanding parted,
left for another prophet,
another poet,
for this how the world's words go,
round and around
left me
re commencing
re imaging
re imagining,
new era words,
newer versions,
new heards
newer mergings
stones and embraces
ha!
"Two of my favorite things"
no, that's been done...
"Let's go get ****** and..."
nope, that's been done
So,
spark sublime divine
give me a second chance,
compose me a vision
that gathers these
mutual funds of
contrasting similarities
in a bow tied connection
singular, worthy of
song and daily recitation!
*her embrace was a stone necklace
around my throat,
sackcloth was my shroud,
to the sea bottom was impaled,
by the stony apparition
of the unrequited embrace*
Ugh
*My beloved's embrace,
cracked the stones that surround
my uncaring register,
the cold still waters that hid it
now boiling from
her gathering me in*
better.
one last try before I repent
*embrace the stones
that obstacle the journey,
gather them in, together keep,
for they are the markers,
you have used,
you have been,
you have exhausted,
so long after the body ashed,
these words will trace for
those that follow the path
you marked with
these same stones
you gathered in
olden days of
simple joyous embrace*
this will,
must have to
do,
for the stones of
the angels of sleep have
arrived and undeterred,
upon my chest have,
inscribed and placed,
while bidding me adieu,
tucking me in,
gathering me to my rest,
a closing eyeing embracing,
in drowsy voices half clear:
sleep prophet,
the work done,
the words piled,
the stones now
mark your the
you final resting place
upon them ecrivez,
In The Future,
Keep It Simple Stupid
Jan 6, 2014
Jan 6, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
Kissed his student.
Punched his friend.
Accused her lover.
What if China's navy asserts control where our navy also patrols?
Should we concede the South China Sea? Not on your life! Or maybe.
Lives may be lost but so what. There's so much biomass in the
crosswalks.
Lord have mercy on my soul
Which means bring my confusion into an expressible state before it's
too late.
Sal went to jail. I belong to the loved ones. Never may the anarchic
man's thoughts be my thoughts. Not one.
It could be cancer or just a cyst
That killed Frost's considerable speck
Instead of considering its considerable intelligence.
Although bottomless ancient night stretches
From your short life forward, remember
It also stretches backward without measure.
There are few straight lines in nature and only one alternative to
ageing, so **** it up!
Suppose everything's fine and you've wasted your time wearing
sackcloth over your soul?
Start now knowing joy.
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
Monica disappeared
She told me she might love me
I told her where to meet me
But when I got there
She was gone
I had become enraptured
By her cherubic face
Elfish, tomboy haircut
Law-breaking smile
I should have known there was something lurking
Behind it
Some secret or some thing
Some One
Some dark, ugly lie she’d found herself caught in
Fly in a spider’s web, vulnerable
But it was easy enough to see
She was too hard to let anything hurt her
She might as well have hurt me
I never told you how
Her kisses left me breathless
The music of Cocteau Twins came alive
In her ethereal expression
As our lips reluctantly let go of each other
Her sated smile told the story
Of happy endings and serendipity
The Fates had other plans
And maybe she knew it.
So somewhere in her heart or her head
She had conspired with the Great Unknown
To break my heart
And so she disappeared.
Lost, flawed goddess?
The woman kept her fair share of secrets
And most likely a greater lot of lies she’d fed me...
Cotton candy to a baby
Grim acceptance of the brutal reality
Brought home by her disappearance
And nailed shut by the knowledge
That I would never again, in my life,
Here and in the Great Beyond,
See her face, kiss her lips, relax in her embrace
Never again dance to Springsteen’s slow songs, silently surrendered to sensuality and the staggered stagnation of sense and sensibility and I would drive all night just to buy her some smack…whatever she wanted
Hear her voice
In this place I will call her “mine”
In this place
She would confess, "I'm yours"
So much like a dream
In this place
Look into her eyes then
Wake
Wail and moan for the miles that separated us
The sackcloth and ashes well worn in the years since
She vanished into thin air
She’s as dead as if she’d stopped breathing
As if her heart had actually stopped beating.
The period for grief and mourning are long past
And yet here I lie
Overcome by a tsunami
Sep 17, 2010
Sep 17, 2010 at 7:41 AM UTC
430
It would never be Common—more—I said—
Difference—had begun—
Many a bitterness—had been—
But that old sort—was done—
Or—if it sometime—showed—as ’twill—
Upon the Downiest—Morn—
Such bliss—had I—for all the years—
’Twould give an Easier—pain—
I’d so much joy—I told it—Red—
Upon my simple Cheek—
I felt it publish—in my Eye—
’Twas needless—any speak—
I walked—as wings—my body bore—
The feet—I former used—
Unnecessary—now to me—
As boots—would be—to Birds—
I put my pleasure all abroad—
I dealth a word of Gold
To every Creature—that I met—
And Dowered—all the World—
When—suddenly—my Riches shrank—
A Goblin—drank my Dew—
My Palaces—dropped tenantless—
Myself—was beggared—too—
I clutched at sounds—
I groped at shapes—
I touched the tops of Films—
I felt the Wilderness roll back
Along my Golden lines—
The Sackcloth—hangs upon the nail—
The Frock I used to wear—
But where my moment of Brocade—
My—drop—of India?
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Rain, coming softly at dawn, softens the dreamer's longing
Wintery watery blue-gray as cotton cloth
Called daba in their land, strong and rough
Merging with morning skies, cotton-gray clouds crowding;
Lemons in full bloom, fleur-d'-orange candles burning;
Smell, almost tangible, rises with currents of air
Stronger than that in July, of dung in banana-fields, choking
Stench wrapping houses, creeping in backyards, swimming in warm fog
Sackcloth houses of cardboard people asleep;
Dreamers hear rain dripping, skipping from leaf to leaf
Whispering.
Whispering to his companions, real, faithful
Standing by him till the time ends, intangible
Warrior proud and dark talking to swords,
Come and take me
Wounds on my body will smile as my love's red lips
Pain as the cruel words of that red lips
As if she were with me not him
Spirit of mountains, his friend, shy and courteous
Hiding his ugly face with his kimono sleeve
Pale moon over the colorless sea
Before sunrise.
Say, I wonder, all those I left behind
Say, when we are all dead
Will we still talk to each other in silence
Will they touch water of Rivers with my lips
Will I feel wrath of the fire with their hands
Sun, rising slowly, insolent fireball
Burns us before we think of answer
Outlines of shadows in stone
Stay for a while.
Sun, rising slowly, lights with its carrot rays
Fleur-d'-orange, incense of this shameless spring;
Boughs burning candles, best drug in trade,
Mark time to refresh stale loves
To re-marry every year again.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
Soot and ashes are the platter from which I dine,
the pool of my flagellation is the outpouring Merlot.
I forget to breathe through the lash,
rending the sackcloth until my nakedness is set before you.
The bells harken, the pendulum keeps time,
my requiem is set by your pulse.
DO NOT dismiss me, DO NOT neglect to
render my salvation in parcels.
Level after level of purgatory the holy grail
I imbibe and drink in ruin.
As the shredding of my skin with filaments of rope,
dislplay a journey of persecutions selfless ardor.
Crouching I beseech, I grovel,
forming steepled hands.
Oh, humble penance
slips my parched tongue and crippled lips.
Sweet King, Soveriegn Lord, Merciful Master,
I cower in my nothingness,
wrapped in the robes of bleak shame.
STILL I PRESS FORTH,
through decadent chambers,
in filth for a glimpse of your being.
For the simple gesture of uttering
your name.
Does your crown sweat with the bulk of my sobs?
To wipe your brow,
smear your worries on my bodice.
Enticing you from your throne to love...
a slave.
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 7, 2012 at 9:47 AM UTC
I miss you my dear
forgive the desecration
couldn't help myself
you left me so suddenly
leaving a hole in my heart
I couldn't let go
just had to keep you near me
I dug up your bones
on our anniversary
it would have been our 13th
beautiful in life
a beautiful skeleton
I took your femur
then reburied your remains
I hope you don't mind, my dear
I cut off both ends
burning them down to ashes
ceremonial
rubbing them into my skin
wailing and wearing sackcloth
hollowing the rest
burning holes in their places
forming a new flute
haunting, soulful melodies
bittersweet consolations
Oct 30, 2010
Oct 30, 2010 at 9:30 PM UTC
Corona
Covered in vines
Just like the door
On this hut of death
So much fog here
I think I lost it
Try and find it
Hold your breath
Walking on stilts
In a sackcloth
I remember that
Big funhouse slide
The big fish beast
And the captain siren
They all seek advice
One eye on the oven
21st century hag
Must be worse off than
Drunk and jetlagged
Rag-doll, cheap tag
And the seven dwarfs
Have a ringleader
It gave moral faces
To forces of nature
Fulfill your future sins
Reading of gods and myths
Tell me what came first
The green or the jealousy
Corona, corona
Covered in vines
Just like the door
On this hut of death
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 8:44 PM UTC
Caught between Guillan's tab and your roof toward me
Worn-out sackcloth but the dust is sick of my head
Now why won't I pound a rock on it instead
I've been here, actually
Break this *** and gather all your foes
Oh where is the breaking point of your wooden-crafted nose
A chance to defend my case was gave
But all along I was digging my own grave
Faithfully, maneuvers evading the light bleeding on the sides meanwhile!
Masks of oak and grey forcefully made to wear
Dressed with mocking silk
Clothed like a circus freak
Thickness of sugarcoat make you look like an iron bear
In mud, I'm bedraggled
Blades of shame, I shave my head
My craving for a just right or even perfect bowl of porridge went down to 'what's better than cabbage than cabbage
Why can't I just go back to the fattened calves
Potato salad unshared in halves
To sit like kids beside their father's mat
Praised by aristocrats
Save me! This is a distress signal, not a salute.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 11:18 AM UTC
PART ONE OF THREE
"I know your works; you are
neither cold nor hot, I am about to
spit you out of my mouth.
For you say, "I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing."
You do not realize that you are
wretched, pitiable, poor, blind,
and naked. Therefore I council you
to buy from me gold refined by fire
so that you may be rich; and white
robes to clothe you to keep the shame of your nakedness from being seen; and salve to annoint your eyes that you may see. I reprove and discipline those whom I love. Be earnest, therefore, and repent."
Revelation 3:14-19
NRSV
Most of what I hear preached from the pulpit today in the US (and indeed around the world) is this,
"When the tribulation comes, the church ("saved") will be raptured out and the lost will be "Left Behind" to endure God's wrath. So don't worry church! The "saints" will go into the clouds to be with Jesus!"
***Bleeeeeep! Wrong answer!!!
Lies!*** From the PULPIT!!!
That's not what JESUS CHRIST said above. Those who are not fit for the Kingdom will have to endure Satan's wrath! God's wrath comes later! To punish the wicked.
And, yep. There is JUDGEMENT.
*R E P R O O F
C H A S T I Z E M E N T
P U N I S H M E N T*
Where in the Bible does it say God is a softie? That HE can be MOCKED?
That He's a Santa Claus in the sky come to give lotto winnings to his "good" little kids?
I'm talking to the CHURCH.
We are preaching
FALSE DOCTIRINE. PERIOD,
IF THE CHURCH DOESN'T
R E P E N T
in sackcloth and ASHES
FAST and PRAY
like there's no
TOMORROW
(which there literally isn't)
they will take the brunt of
SATAN'S WRATH
For those who are found worthy there will be PROTECTION.
Read Psalm 91.
Thank you for reading all of this.
There will be three parts to this sermon. Please read them ALL.
THANK YOU!
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 11:18 AM UTC
Eight years ago, foggily I awoke from a 40-day deep, deep deep, sleep,
Seven times I've donned the sackcloth, which may continue seventy times seven in acceptance of my new reality.
Six years of gratitude redirected my heavy heart and thoughts, reframing and good perspective keep --
Five rehabilitation programs, cross-country, helped regain vital functionality, to commence:
Four years of post-graduate study in counselling and chaplaincy, processing grief, re-skilling, and growing more confidently,
despite my
Three-second memory retention, slowly but surely, my amazing brain rewired grey space. My
Two eyes, after several surgeries, still view life in fragments, hoping to be restored by the
One Almighty God, who has blessed me with life, I stand in awe of His grace.
Apr 3, 2020
Apr 3, 2020 at 9:55 PM UTC
After Jonah got out of the whale, he went to the city of Nineveh and warned the Ninevites.
He told them that God was going to destroy them because they weren't doing what was right.
God was going to destroy them in forty days because of the evil they had done in the present and the past.
The King heeded the warning and he and everybody else covered themselves with sackcloth and began to fast.
The Ninevites turned from their evil ways after they were warned.
God saw that they had changed and he was no longer scorned.
God spared the Ninevites because they were no longer unfit.
Jehovah isn't a harsh God and that sure did prove it.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 5:02 PM UTC
Heroic in the face of fate,
nooses cinched about the nape,
ransomed at the city's gate,
sackcloth their adorning drape.
Bearing keys to England's King,
the six against a town compared.
Bad omens that their death may bring,
thus the burghers' lives were spared.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 11:22 AM UTC
rooster-crow and the repetitive tap
of a hammer like the tick
of a clock in the distance
woke me and I followed what
was left of your voice like the tracks
of an animal to the edge of the copper
water. Though I knew there were
Cottonmouths thick as ropes, I waded
into the cool shadows and then up
a hill where trees grew, preordained, laid
out in perfect rows like headstones. When
I had reached that place where
we had left the past, and shed even
our skins for love, I saw them:
the blackberries surrounded
by briers. Supple and sparkling
as jewels. The same ones that we
had subsisted on, with bleeding
fingers, for one afternoon
of our lives. And though
I remembered all the fears
we shared like sackcloth
and ashes, and I knew
the danger of reaching
into the unknown, (it seemed
like there were serpents waiting
beneath every beautiful thing)
blindly grasping for the sweetness
that everyone longs for, and I too
have always feared those things
I cannot see, I put my faith
in the innocence of nature. I tried
to believe in the benevolence
that exists if you go beyond
the fear, and so I found
them again: the blackberries,
the fruit not forbidden
to those who love, huge
and succulent, and so full
of grace, they were almost
too heavy to bear.
Jul 7, 2014
Jul 7, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
With coarsest sackecloth cloathe my naked soule;
Construct for me a throne of ashes blacke;
Place on my lying lipps a liuing coal;
Cast me asea inside a sackcloth sacke;
I am a rocke of great offence, a rocke
As stonie-hearted as a stvmbling blocke.
Not any man hath greater loue than this,
That hee should for his friend laye downe his life;
But I betray'd my friend without a kisse
And stabb'd into his backe a butter knife;
And hee who loues his life his life shall lose,
And I, by loving life, my death did chuse.
Mar 26, 2024
Mar 26, 2024 at 12:24 PM UTC
Sackcloth on the tenterhook
Birdfeeders or birdlime
What is above must be holy
Cause 666 is time
The letter kills unless it’s
Written on the human heart
The martyrs win their crowns
And another life to start
There’re fresh waters above the heavens
But the lake of fire must be brimming
We’re all in the fish tank
Whether we’re sinking or swimming
The bridal city made of jasper
Gives babies eloquent tongues
The beauty penetrates my bones
The crystal air fills my lungs
But while we’re still on earth
The ancient sinner waits
Mocking the ignominy of our flesh
And using us as bait
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 7:43 PM UTC
He died in a shell of
his own making,
no runaway excuses or
afforded sorrow, to wash
his depleted crown or
balm his hand.
Sackcloth and ashes
paraded;
despatch due his rainy Sunday.
Oct 15, 2013
Oct 15, 2013 at 1:49 PM UTC
~ For Mike~
an abundance of:
illogical reasons,
of hate,
of emboldened badness beyond inexplicable,
and nor is it
episodic, not periodic, but abundantly continuous,
so
no need for a fan, one of those upright six foot tall,
MF’er tornado sounding fans, for the hate free flies every where,
damning the consequences, full speed ahead, spreading
medieval plague style, and as we two talk of this world,
on this world,
electronically a thousand miles apart,
we, worn and wearied, being ****** and awaiting the
spill doors to unleash officially tidal waves of
dammed up, still held back raging, hate
that is just edging over the top,
a nauseating goop (apologies to what’s her name),
I awake at 4:something
*(to complete six hours later
whatever this is, this lamentation, of woe and sackcloth,
ashes on my tongue,
commenced the eve before,
but genetically ancient and familiar
in all
my cells),*
to complete this heavy evensong,
commenced and begun seven hours earlier when one soul
states to another a simple,
*“forgive me, my heart is heavyweight heavy tonight,
the world’s disheartened burdens beyond bearable,”*
the quiet calm of a sleeping house pervades my soul,
and a lament is transmogrified into a
psalm of hope;
for having shared the pain,
when one asks the other for forgiveness,
for exposing the other to this sadness infectious,
then,
understanding and comprehension
overcome me,
realizing that hatred has failed
when two bleed into each other,
that
shared distress is
distress defeated,
by a large and grandeur
purer expression of connection
across state lines,
tween two souls
unlikely to meet,
ever,
and yet this cellular combination
is so powerful, so
a w e s o m e,
it is
indefatigable,
(incapable of being defeated)
and we are each others
Shepherd and lamb,
in a time of woe,
one more time,
but soon the dawn will come
to welcome us with
the embrace of a newborn,
uncontaminated,
and to finish this now psalm,
now, and forever
newly perfected.
Apr 1, 2024
Apr 1, 2024 at 5:25 AM UTC