A Work In Progress

darkness fell

as light broke

this heart in a billion pieces,

stars facing death row

as if it’s a crime to be bright

and shine light on a quiet scream

ripping the voices off tongues

that burden the souls to birth

meaningless words to breathe

time in the circle to live,

to crave giants to come,

so they can be taken out,

but for what?

to see blood on hands

dripping off eyes that saw it all?

eyes that saw everything

did nothing to birth peace

inside the womb of the storm

and as she stands,

she falls to knees begging

for wild fires to let her go

so she can be free

from hell that has tamed

a still earthquake to jolt

awake this blistering mind,

and all that comes

are these memories

that curse the life within

as night exists to bleed out

the day forever

~ Bethany Anne

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2 thoughts on “A Work In Progress

  1. Shiloh
    By Tim Shey

    Brutal deathdance;
    My eyes weep blood.
    Pharisees smile like vipers,
    They laugh and mock their venom:
    Blind snakes leading
    The deaf and dumb multitude.

    Where are my friends?
    The landscape is dry and desolate.
    They have stretched my shredded body
    On this humiliating tree.

    The hands that healed
    And the feet that brought good news
    They have pierced
    With their fierce hatred.

    The man-made whip
    That opened up my back
    Preaches from a proper pulpit.
    They sit in comfort:
    That vacant-eyed congregation.
    The respected, demon-possessed reverend
    Forks his tongue
    Scratching itchy ears
    While Cain bludgeons
    Abel into silence.

    My flesh in tattered pieces
    Clots red and cold and sticks
    To the rough-hewn timber
    That props up my limp, vertical carcase
    Between heaven and earth.
    My life drips and puddles
    Below my feet,
    As I gaze down dizzily
    On merciless eyes and dagger teeth.

    The chapter-and-versed wolves
    Jeer and taunt me.
    Their sheepwool clothing
    Is stained black with the furious violence
    Of their heart of stone.
    They worship me in lip service,
    But I confess,
    I never knew them
    (Though they are my creation).

    My tongue tastes like ashes:
    It sticks to the roof of my mouth.
    I am so thirsty.
    This famine is too much for me.
    The bulls of Bashan have bled me white.
    Papa, into your hands
    I commend my Spirit.

    Ethos
    February/March 1997
    Iowa State University

    Genesis 49: 10: “The scepter shall not depart from Judah, nor a lawgiver from between his feet until Shiloh come; and unto him shall the gathering of the people be.”

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