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Day Eight


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Eddie Chamberlain


Day One, it's empty, it's black, it's void.

Nothing yet made, damned, or destroyed.

There's only Nothing, nothing to avoid,

Nothing untrue, taboo or tabloid.

A piece of the world a peace enjoys,

Til in due course, God his force employs

And commences remorse with the noise of his voice.

The god du jour was not so annoyed

Til his Almighty alchemy injected steroids

Of Somebody's sin, deep in the muscle of choice.



Day Seven from heaven, in an age long ago

When the sky hung down heavy, treacherously low,

So close that the ancients say God could converse

From behind his dark cloud blackening earth

In banging, clanging, language not understood

For whatever, for evil, forever, for good,

The God of Nothing, red as fire, red as blood,

Hands soiled with man still dripping with mud,

Black as a serial Edgar Allan Poe,

Bags his John Doe, tagging the toe.



He plunges his sword in the Adam just made

For death, with the breadth and depth of the blade.

In holy scripts he dips down deep his pen

In his lake of fire and in blood of men

To scribe and scratch and lacerate

The heart, the soul, the mind, the man he creates,

And etches his crevices, cracks, and earthquakes

In terrible tremors that tremble and shake

With unbearable things that only God could think,

In the heaviest hand, in the blackest of ink.



On the rising horizon then comes the beast,

An ambition, a mission to increase the deceased

Assembled, aligned, like plagues He released--

A malicious, mid-evil mid-east of priests,

Alloys of allies, corrupted, corroded

With verses of curses, mistaken, misquoted,

Scarred en bloc and carved in a rock,

Shards bombarding Adam's stock, shell-shocked.

In sacred scriptures on scrolls they portrayed it,

A God priests and prophets hallucinated.

They dare to swear they know Beginning and End,

Unaware to beware the prayer they pretend.



Soon commences the sacred hatred of war,

Nothing but what God in their image is for:

Conquer, convert, love to hate, life to the grave,

And the rest that won't rest in peace, enslave.

And peering up from blood with periscopes of prayer,

They're scared of a God of Nothing, Nowhere,

And for all their pretensions to transcend the dark,

Still, their sentence of life ends in question marks.

From the depths of their hearts in their darkest of nights,

Still, they see no god in sight.




Day Eight, their world finally spins around,

Their violence is silenced, their riots quieted down.

Only the cruel, corrupt, and criminal conceive

The faiths that Adam's been deceived to believe.

But never forgotten in man's misbegotten myths

Are the deep weeping wounds they left the world with

And the fragile fragments of what someone said that God said,

A god that Adam created in his head.

At the last, with their last tears shed and lives bled,

In their own dirt and dust, buried with them, God is dead.



(On The Eighth Day, God Died. And Man Saw That It Was Good.)

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I'm not much of a poetry fan.. Big However is your work is readable and interesting, to point, done well.


Kudos from guy who has tech manuals and books with machinery pictures on tank in his "library".



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Apprectiate the compliment. Thanks for taking the initiative to say so. And for even reading it. Yeah, I don't usually "get" poetry either. I've glanced through poetry books for 10 minutes or so, rarely over the years, like every few years, if that, when the mood strikes me-- and I don't get it, with rare exceptions. I look for inspired insights, kinda like Jerry Seinfeld's comments on life, that open our eyes to see a world we were missing. Jewel's poetry book, I'm told, is the best selling poetry book of all time-- all time!-- and that's because it was jump-started by her music fame first. Yet, even with that advantage, hers ranks only #403,228 on Amazon.com's book ranking (as of June 2009). So I thought that if stuff I write is gonna get heard (or read), it's gonna have to be put to music. What I usually write are lyrics instead, but "Day Eight," which is more like an epic poem, came to me and I had to write what came to me. But it's too long-winded to lend itself easily to music, or at least it'll be tricky to make it work. I guess someone like Rush ("Closer To The Heart") and a singer who has enough breath power to sing all those words could make it work. So, since it seemed like it'd just lay on the shelf otherwise, I thought a forum like exchristian.net would give it some life. Thanks again for noticing.

E Chamberlain MD

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Really liked it, and I'm a former semi-serious songwriter.

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  • 2 months later...


Eddie Chamberlain

<snip great work>

(On The Eighth Day, God Died. And Man Saw That It Was Good.)

I take it your a doctor. Have you considered submitting this to JAMA for publication?


Well, I'd bet they would politely decline, but maybe not...


Every now and then the accidentally publish something that has an atheist flare.

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I love it.

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