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Cursed Memory
| Open Poetry #3 |
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Cursed Memory |
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russelle Junior Member
since 1999-11-02
Posts 21Chicago, Il. USA |
He lived alone with the one he loved And he was happy. He roamed with lions, Ate with jackals, Played with lambs, And they loved him, For he had named them. He irrigated from a never ending spring, He gazed at his wife Clothed majestically in all her nakedness, And he walked with God Whom he deeply loved For it was God who named him. And he was happy His was a perfect happiness Unguarded by memories of misery past And free from fear of the future. But all that’s changed, though not forgotten. And it is the memory’s of the past That fuel the hell in which he lives, Cursed memory At first he dreaded the work. His blistered hands, and bloody knees Shocked his virgin nerves with pain. But wounds heal, and hands callous, While the sinews of his mind remained tender, Pricked by everything that took him back to before. He couldn’t even work a full day. No, his wife could not understand, But in the cool of the Eve, When work should have been easiest, He stopped, Weepingly he would watch the waning sun, And remember when he used to share that view with its painter. It somehow seemed more beautiful before, Of course then it was not blurred by tears, Tainted by memories And eclipsed by the anxious expectation that maybe, If he waited long enough, Cried hard enough, Hurt deep enough, The former breather of life might come As he once had, And breath upon him For he was dying. But each night the light faded, And darkness once again covered the face of the deep. This time without the Spirit of God, But instead, the darkness was joined by a mighty wind And from his soul, (once again formless and void,) Echoed that everlasting question first uttered by God, WHERE ARE YOU? And walking back to his wife with his Weighty heart Trembling eyes Pounding mind, Salty cheeks, And parched throat He knew that while he could never go back, He was cursed to remember. While he must live in this haunted world His mind would forever reside in a fantasy world that somehow rang true, For once it was, And he had destroyed it. His was true regret, For he had known true happiness. It had been about knowledge, His wife had told him. Well, he had knowledge. He had the knowledge of Evil And the memories of good And the two waged war within his soul Like two immortal stallions, Rearing and kicking, Bruising and biting But ever living. His wife tried to help. At night, when he returned from waiting, She would be there, smiling, nude. But sometimes, when the moon was bright, He would see her stark nudity, And he would remember how her nakedness had once clothed her, Smiling he would draw her near, Like a missionary eating a precious worm from the chieftain, Nodding and smiling, but cringing and gagging within. He hoped she couldn’t tell. Cursed memory Then the boys were born And he put his life into them Because they could not remember. As time past the memories began to fade. The boys helped him work And he taught them to sacrifice. At night, It was the boys he longed to walk with And so he filled his world With Noise Activity Work. And he nearly forgot, So he was nearly happy. But nearly was as close as he would get. One Eve, after finishing a sacrifice, his boys went walking. A twinge of pain caught him briefly off guard as he sat alone, But seeing Cain clinging to his favorite tool, (The one he had made him) Caused him to smile as he faded off to sleep. Not knowing that his sons backs, Walking over the horizon into the setting sun Would be as close to happiness as he ever came. The next Eve, anxious, he went wandering. Drawn by the voice of Abel’s blood He found him bruised and battered Slain with the very tool he had created. By the son he had born And as the sun set And the mighty winds came Again his voice could be heard echoing against the hills. GOD, WHERE ARE YOU? WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN HIM? CAN’T YOU HEAR HIS BLOOD CALLING OUT? And as the blood called out Regret rushed in. Like a might river it crushed his mind, Shattering his nearly happiness against the rocks As a cube of mountain ice Cascading down some great falls onto the jagged rocks below. And for the first time he knew the curse of God, For now he knew death. And the bitter juices of that retched fruit Began to eat away at his soul. And so the bloodied body of his son Became his everconstant companion. Haunting his work Waking his sleep And calling his name. His was a story of tragedy. The first tragedy, The root from which all others have sprung. For there, against the memory of a deathless, sinless world, Lay the bloody body of his righteous son, Reminding him of the wages of sin And foreshadowing for us all Its only solution. |
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| © Copyright 1999 russelle - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Watcher666 Senior Member
since 1999-10-13
Posts 1606 |
Nicely done! Welcome  ------------------ Illusion...what we see and what we do...it's all up to you. |
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
Russelle, Russelle, Russelle, this is absolutely fantastic. What an impressive piece you have written here! BRAVO! ------------------ Denise |
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russelle Junior Member
since 1999-11-02
Posts 21Chicago, Il. USA |
thank you for your kind responces, i was hoping someone would take the time to read the whole thing. russelle [This message has been edited by russelle (edited 11-04-1999).] |
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