Cerise Posted November 29, 2005 Share Posted November 29, 2005 On Earth Chased into the church by the storm I walk into the empty, dusty spaces And breathe in the smell of wood and candle smoke The evening service has long since past And everyone, including God, has gone home to rest bells and hymns ringing in their ears like so many whispers of ghosts. I, too, wish to go home But the storm doesn’t care much what I wish for so I’m stuck here for a few minutes at least. I bow my head to the virgin but she only has eyes for the smiling infant on her lap, plaster halo around his head and a blue swaddling sheet strategically placed, of course. Briefly I wonder if Jesus ever soiled his blankets when he was a baby but soon discarded this idea as too ridiculous to even think about. The statue of John the Baptist looks at me disapprovingly. I stick my tongue out at him and then feel silly. Stained glass windows stretch towards the rafters, Displaying every martyred saint In gruesome detail, A spear through the belly, Twenty arrows through the chest, Torn apart by lions, Each with a ring of light around their contorted, anguished faces. Their tortured faith is horrifying to behold. And yet I find that I am more comfortable with them Then with the marble angels that stand at attention Along the outside rows of wooden benches, Their skin smooth and cold as frost, Enclosing, Capturing, Never giving their secrets away. Their white gowns glow sickly in the darkness. I look at them and curse their perfect bodies Which are made of pure intellect and reason And hold no passion, no fire, no spark, The closed, bow-shaped lips that imply That if you were to ask them ‘why?’ They would say back to you ‘because’ and nothing else. Sister Bethany always said That when the heavenly choir sang God listened and nature wept Or maybe nature listened and God wept Either way it makes no difference To those of us down here who are singing songs we don’t know the words to. I envy the angles Who only have to open their mouths To command the attention of heaven and earth While those of us here, In the mud, Must be shot full of arrows for our halos And have to pause to breathe between the hallelujahs. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Fweethawt Posted November 29, 2005 Share Posted November 29, 2005 Another fine piece, dear Cerise. I really like that one. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
fortunehooks Posted December 7, 2005 Share Posted December 7, 2005 cerise, you know what makes sense. i like the material. the journey of following the character to the church being surrounded by saints,virgins,holy babes, and swaddling clothes. you wrote the hell out of that. ahh, if we all can be so lucky to have that unique workings of the collective creatives minds. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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