by Rachel M Summerhill
Friday, October 19, 2007
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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The Servant, a Writhing Moth
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nailed across the tree-lined sky,
in a bleak place of no imagination.
I can already read my tombstone.
I can smell its fresh decay.
my flesh under the raining sky
would weep its death a million times
(before it ever comes).
my wrists are broken with these nails.
my mind is just the same.
the learning of this lyrical martyrdom,
forever literal in its pain.
I love the Lord for all He gave,
but twisted bramble that I am,
how far am I from understanding?
I thought it was my wedding day,
my day of execution.
it was gray all in the church,
as if such sanctuary never existed.
the groaning organ never stopped
its mangling dirge of hate.
all the walls breathed out a fire
that none would ever see.
my veil was of black blood,
which dripped inside my hair and face.
the muddy creature from under the earth
beckoned as a bridegroom
from the other side.
bidding me with muted voice
to die to everything.
I heard his request
to walk on the sun with him,
so he might show me what it was like.
Then I found the church-place gone,
a barren plain in its position.
the words like water-echoes in my mind.
I felt the rope from the high branches strangling my throat.
I had no tongue to scream
at what he’d done.
I had no sight;
the black blood-veil had
pierced away my eyes.
still I heard the slaughter
of the laughter all around,
(unlike our Messiah in worth),
I found myself the new martyr,
sacrificed by humans and demons.
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|Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
|Gotta love it!!! Grusome to the nth . . . Poe would have been startled and the raven would have crashed through the window if this were read aloud to them . . . Halloweenish? Nope, but it IS deep and it IS a tremendous read . . .|
|Reviewed by Karen Palumbo
|The primal screams of days gone by intertwined with today in a tale of spiritual intrigue....
|Reviewed by E. Richardson
|interesting and vivid imagery in this...great use of allagory and metaphor...What I also like here is the layers of iterpetation...this could as easily be a tale of a love gone bad to a spiritual and or religious offering. Splendid work here.|
|Reviewed by Walt Hardester
|I enjoyed this dark brooding piece.
Good job and welcome to AD.