This is a poem I wrote nearly 15 years ago. I have never forgotten the essence of what I wrote or the event that inspired the verse. I combed through digital files to find it so that I could revisit and share it here, but I no longer have it on my computer. Luckily for me, I found it within a decades old folder where I used to keep hard copies of the things I wrote. The poem transformed today, and it has a particularly specific significance to me, as it is evidence of the fissures as they began to present within my Christian ideology all those years ago. With that said, I hope you enjoy and find some solace of your own in my words…

Prim procession.
White robes glisten; sun is pink at dusk.
A breeze,
Crisp— gracefully conducts the satin waltz.

Autumn, premature,
August prayer requited.

Piety parades with pomp across the lawn,
pausing at the altar, calls to witness
Sacred, Sanctimonious Holy Union
contaminated Bleach, righteous, right and pure.

Reverent hymns
proclaimed unto The Lord.
Ax plunges fast into napes of brambly briars
chaff sifts from wheat in holy words.

Mouth of God, avast, anoints authority—
beckons from a well-placed, mounted pit
(Those feebly whispered closet prayers shall not ascend).
Righteousness, ordained, condemns the cloud of witnesses,
convicting doubters, sentencing the damned.

Sovereign Lord, incarnate, chlorine priest,
intimately integrated vessel, replete with Holy Ghost,
detain and block the remnant, enmeshed emotion
Heads beneath the weighty halo bow.

Fragments of a shredded soul slide downward
sucked, with force, into a vortex loop.
from the wayward sands of time.

About Author

Standing ground for desire through self-study of philosophy and psychoanalysis, self-reflection, and creative sublimation through the work of literary fiction.

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