what
will you do
without that cross
to bear
that visible sign
of your purity
the white religious banner
you tightly wrap
your true thoughts in
as if wearing
some
supportive undergarment
to give
your life
the right shape
what happens
at night
when
your remove it
who
do you see
in the mirror
and
who
lies
beside you
she had
so carefully
woven her crown
of thorns
from her beliefs
binding each row
with the twisted twine
of her sense
of worthlessness
wearing it
with olympian pride
year after year
turning water
into wine
that others would drink
while she hung thirsty
upon a cross
carved with her own hands
hands she marked
so her tormentors
would know where
to place the nails
and yet
she knew not
what she
had
done
Challenge Photo II from Jade
Photograph by Vlad
my words
are all around you
feel them
against your skin
gentle as my lips
tracing the curvature
of your spine
in our warm bed
just
before morning’s dawn
do not ask if this will end
close your eyes
hold this moment
a gentle breeze
caressing the soul’s passion
holding our love
within this hallowed sanctuary
where each touch
is a sacred point
of the cross
in our love
and
where every breath
i take
becomes
a holy
sacrament
of
love
Jade and Vlad have done it again…forced me to write a love poem during this challenge because of the image they provided. For those of you new to this recent challenge…the whole idea behind it is to send a picture ( in this case by Vlad) to the other as inspiration (to the visual muse), and the other has to write a poem inspired by the image. Please take a look at how Jade has responded to my most recent challenge photograph on her site.
i am an old soldier
the scars i have
and the wars
i’ve fought
are many
each scar you see
is yours
for each war
has been for you
so my blood
runs in your veins
transfused there
by some battlefield medic
wars
that you have
only read about
not cared about
as you stood in line
at starbucks
holding the morning news
in hands now ink-stained
hands that you washed
as if the ink was blood
and you wash them again
when i returned home
scrubbing me from your memory
as well as any thought
of your part
in those deaths
upon the cross
of freedom
all the words
and verses had not changed
he had said these words a thousand times
and a thousand times he said them with faith
but today
he felt as if he were just an actor
one waiting for godot
staring out into the sea of souls
some lost among the coral reefs of disbelief
seeking to find the beacon of truth
that would free them from themselves
others
too sure of what they knew
dawned pious smiles when he said
what they wanted to hear
otherwise
they frowned at him
as he stood in the pulpit
he wondered
could he say those words
without
his faith intact
if they sensed his doubt
would they rise up from the pews
and proclaim him a heretic
or claim that their faith was undaunted
by what they had seen in the world
had they studied the word
as a lover studies their love
they would understand its history
but they do not know or care
who the scribes were
those founders of this society of believers
the codependency of this relationship
means he dares not tell them the truth
his cross would be that of the malefactor
who did not repent
but this man has done nothing
his questions have come with age
and studies to find true meaning
just to answer those daunting questions
formed from so many years of religious grief
wondering how men meeting in secret
could design and decide
on what was best for mankind
a committee
producing sacred writings
marketing their beliefs as if for profit
he wonders am i now a non-believer
or am i like a lover
whose love has waned
over the years
progessing from insatiable passion
to a deeper love and understanding
or is this grounds
for divorce…
For those who wish to read the trigger for this, read: Non-Believing Clergy.
http://newsweek.washingtonpost.com/onfaith/Non-Believing-Clergy.pdf
Read Between the Minds 