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Open Poetry #8
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Chapel on the edge part 2
| Open Poetry #8 |
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Chapel on the edge part 2 |
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brian madden Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374ireland 
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Here is part two. Part one can be found at: /pip/Forum37/HTML/000455.html In the words of Jim Morrison "this is the end." No part 3. Thanks to everyone who read and responsed to part 1. ------------------------------------------------ Part 2 Imagine crystal clarity at birth, Cradling peacefully with your first thought seized as a still frame to treasure eternally. Words are redundant, ugly monuments, unable to mirror what my eyes now view. Lingering inside of timeless lullabies, yet all insular buds must flower to vast gardens. Stretch my arms body uncurls as petals unfold in the light of day the sudden rush of breath intoxicates. AND THE DOORS OPEN WIDE PRAY TELL WHAT TREASURES AWAIT INSIDE Standing on the threshold of the Promised Land as Jesus, without lost souls to follow my footsteps. I have broken through where all others failed. I can picture their hopeless faces, their bodies scrapping against the urban walls in a mound of misery. Desolation in their eyes as they fumble against the threshold then slowly slip back into the depths. Still no point praying empty masses for the damned I had belief and direction where they did not. The doors open, all internal details drown in light. Facing destiny fears and doubts begin to surface. Why was I chosen when I have no special worth? No, I have endured too much not to accept this blessing. I walk through; pure gold kisses my beggar's feet. The walls are decorated in intricate carvings that a mind could never grasp, everywhere is beauty that would imprison a body in all its heavenly glory. Yet slowly the wonders blur so I may continue, still in awe. There is an altar ahead, the flesh of saints and sinners cement its foundations. Rubies and sapphires are harvested in their bowels. Extruded, from the marble sides, the faces of past elders adorn with their mouths prised open for the snarl of god. Resting upon each tongue is a jewel womb, ripe and transparent with life squirming beneath. The testimonies of man are inscribed upon each embryo from creation to alienation, from first love to last hate. Confronted with the truth it means nothing, I am human in denial. Words are weak here they murmur in echoes. My language is broken,arranged and disarranged. When the clock signals my perishing hour of a deathbed, will I recite a verse or die in silent dignity? I have penned epitaphs on snow, and written my legacy in dust. Destiny may be sealed in the stars but when the narrator's blind he creates his own faith. You have called me in God, and shown me Heaven that I could never comprehend, This is mockery, explaining the great mysteries in divine riddle. Choir angels pity man trapped in his limits. I summon them, celestial nymphs, to taste my pestilence kiss. Wild ones let your masks slip into the shadows, Converge and proclaim the night to reap the butterfly harvest. We will celebrate drink the finest wine of Jesus, eat his body bread, the most tender corpse, and inebriate our temples in his blood. There is a celebration in heaven; I hold the chalice of vice to my lips and drink deep. It is the sweetest understanding. On altar, on sacrificed lambskin, we expel salvation for damnation. < !signature--> A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry [This message has been edited by brian madden (edited 06-22-2000).] |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
Words are weak here they murmur in echoes. My language is broken,arranged and disarranged. When the clock signals my perishing hour of a deathbed, will I recite a verse or die in silent dignity? I have penned epitaphs on snow, and written my legacy in dust. Destiny may be sealed in the stars but when the narrator's blind he creates his own faith. You have called me in God, and shown me Heaven that I could never comprehend, This is mockery, explaining the great mysteries in divine riddle. Choir angels pity man trapped in his limits. I summon them, celestial nymphs, to taste my pestilence kiss. Wild ones let your masks slip into the shadows, Converge and proclaim the night to reap the butterfly harvest. We will celebrate drink the finest wine of Jesus, eat his body bread, the most tender corpse, and inebriate our temples in his blood. There is a celebration in heaven; I hold the chalice of vice to my lips and drink deep. It is the sweetest understanding. On altar, on sacrificed lambskin, we expel salvation for damnation. ------------- no wonder your tired Bri... damn... well, this is a perfect follow up to part one and the imagery is amazing and the depth make me head hurt as always ... I think you should be quite proud of this epic... maybe when you recover from writing it  very cool Bri.. get some rest ...*smile* later poetic-prophet-gator jm |
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JamesMichael Member Empyrean
since 1999-11-16
Posts 33336Kapolei, Hawaii, USA |
Very creative...it seems this would take lots of time and energy to write this. Quite a task...yet driven by your desire to create it. James |
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Sudhir Iyer Member Ascendant
since 2000-04-26
Posts 6943Mumbai, India : now in Belgium |
Energy abound, feathers willing to fly... My friend, you have achieved the break through... On altar, on sacrificed lambskin, we expel salvation for damnation. The end of one event is the beginning of another...as I understand this correctly, What is the end for a catterpillar, is a beginning for the butterfly... A very good poem here, Brian...a perfect follow-up as Janet confirms... regards, sudhir Death, be not proud, though some have called thee, Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; - John Donne |
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brian madden Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374ireland |
Jan, well I think I have recovered from this poem after torturing myself with it for the past few days. Thanks for your wonderful response and for taking the time out to read this epic. James, I watched the doors movie, listened to their songs, and read through my poetry books for inspiration. It was quite a challenge but enjoyable. Just one of those things I had to do, the big finale as I want to start doing other things. Thanks for your wonderful reply and for reading this epic. Sudhir, aw yes thank Jim for the inspiration, to help me break through. "What the capterpillar calls the end, the world calls a butterfly" Lao Tze Tao. and I do feel like a caterpillar shedding it cocoon, as I want change my style and explore other things. Thanks for wonderful response my friend and for taking the time out to read this epic. A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry |
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Kit McCallum
Administrator
Member Laureate
since 2000-04-30
Posts 14774Ontario, Canada |
I got to read the whole thing before replying to both Brian ... you've picked up fluidly from Part 1, to create an incredible finale to this epic. Truly dramatic imagery and complex, thought-provoking sentiments ... really amazing writing Brian, Well done! Best wishes, /Kit |
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OLIAS Senior Member
since 2000-06-20
Posts 1090Pearl city Iowa |
I Found this easier on my brain than part one but I still have to say WOW 2. I havent the words Olias |
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Aimster Member Elite
since 2000-02-19
Posts 4297Charlotte, NC |
Brian~ This is AWESOME both parts 1 and 2!!! Your writing is way beyond my style but I managed to comprehend most of it! LOL. This was powerfully intense and I found myself reading faster to see what the next stanza would say. Quite a gift you have!! Take care. Amy  "Don't be dismayed at goodbyes. A farewell is before you can meet again. And meeting again after a moment or a lifetime is certain for those who are friends." "Fate exists but it can only take you so far, Because once you're there It's up to you to make it happen." |
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brian madden Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374ireland |
Kit, I am glad that there is fluidity between both parts. thank for your wonderful comments and for taking the time to read this little poem of mine. OLIAS, I don't want to overwhelm people so I made the second part a bit easier going lol no seriuosly. thank you for your wonderful reply and for taking the time to read this. Amy, we all have our own styles unique to ourselves, but they are no way better or worse than anyone elses. Everyone at passions is gifted with words. anyway lossing my trail of thought, thanks for kind words and wonderful reply. A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry [This message has been edited by brian madden (edited 06-25-2000).] |
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