Tag Archives: cross

Corinthians 11:14

Good afternoon, everyone. You’ll do some reading. Not too much though! Wouldn’t ever want to do too much… Please enjoy the poem today, my friends. I did work ever so diligently to bring it to you. Without further ado:

Corinthians 11:14

Demons, demons

one and all.

Take your place,

take your face.

Look again

and meet the leper.

Again in the den

of one false shepherd.

Do you hear?

Those whispers that draw near?

Loud, loud, loud, loud…

Are those eyes inside that cloud?

They haunt and stalk;

destroy your mirror

and your screens.

That’s how they sit

inside your jeans.

Don’t let them in,

don’t let them out.

They’ll scream and shout.

Don’t let them out.

A sweet boy

now just a ploy.

They’ll take your place

and take your face.

The Banks of The River Lethe

Good afternoon, everyone. You have died. You stand here, like those heroes of old, on the banks of that sacred river Lethe. Your ascent to the heavenly realms of Paradiso now secured, you step carefully into the dark and starkly opaque water. Your sins, desires and memories washed away in sacred bliss. As a child again, you are innocent, no longer condemned, but redeemed. Welcome to the rest of forever. Without further ado…

Settling Debts

Haunting orbs

drift across the water.

They come towards me,

stealing away my light.

I am fading.

I flash and flicker;

I am the torch over which your fingers

quickly pass.

The specters

take my flame.

They wear it

and make themselves whole.

I am as the hearth

in that certain dearth

that follows November.

Swept away,

is all my heat.

Through the mist

is seen defeat.

I know why they’ve come:

The debt of one infernal sum.

I cannot pay,

I’m ashamed to say.

This will make their day.

Flitting on Forgotten Wings

Good morning, everyone! I have for you today a piece which I have freshly written, so freshly, in fact, that it still smells of warm ink and the sweat of my hands. Like warm bread, I would hope that you enjoy what I’ve managed to bake up for you today. Without further ado…

Perception of the Mass

To die upon your crossed arms,

a fall from grace so fed by charms

would be so sweet and free from harms.

It would not be

that Pontius Pilate

determines my fate,

for such a thing

now seems so trite.

Willful masters know their place,

looking in the mirror

and finding their face.

Do you not harm,

but simply farm

that sorrow which you carefully guard.

In the eyes of a dog

is reflected one ghastly visage

of one most malevolent demagogue.

Make your choice,

knowing all the while

that what you do

matters to you.