Archive for god

Terrible Instruments

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 7, 2017 by beautifulimposter

The sunlight today is an act of violence,
Arrows slicing the clouds to ribbons
Such awesome and terrible storms of light,
Bright and ragged banners streaming
Battle cries thundering along the channels
Of the raging winds.

I once laid in a fever, between dream and vision
The roof above my head ripped away
The vaults of the night sky split
As overripe fruit, edges ragged as wounds
The pulp and pith of the heavens
A yawning, hungry, pure flame.

Angels peered over the edges,
Mouths bloody, teeth wicked and sharp
Wings of blackened, pitted iron spreading
A rustling of edges and rust
Hungry, feral, carrion birds eying their feast
Beautiful the way a naked blade is still lovely.

Frozen to the sweat soaked sheets
Bones the kindling for the fire set in my flesh
Unmoving, tears burning canyons into my cheeks
For the first time feeling the death in me,
Printed upon each cell as blackletter,
A whispering mirrored by the watchers’ lips,
As threads sewn beneath the skin,
Tied and knotted, a skein, a tapestry.

The fever broke, yet still I feel the tugging,
Still out of the corner of my eye
Wings beat at the shadows
Pinned beneath all my words,
All the brutal blood and sex and mortality
Tainting blue skies and sunlight
So that I will never not see the tooth marks left
By God’s terrible instruments.



Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on September 3, 2014 by beautifulimposter

Standing before the gates
A pillar, a drawn sword, a wheel of flame
They trembled, naked, still just children
Lost, terrified by sudden unwanted knowing.

The birth of tragedy
They could but see only a short way
To the filling of their bellies
Shelter, solace in a sudden cruel world
Nothing further than the needs
Of their new, soft flesh.

I could see, for so it was given to me
All compassed within this earth
The befores and afters spreading
Along the paths their feet could tread
Laid bare to bone, open
Drawn apart as curtains upon a stage.

Their mouths would taste ashes
More often than mana
The hands if their unborn drip red
Generations feasting upon themselves
The locusts with scorpion stings
Buried deep in feet of clay
Because it is their nature.

The sky before my vision blackened
Bruising the brand new dawn
Only days from birth
Choked with grease and soot
Rendered flesh offered to The Name.

As they turned to go
Feet ragged from thorns
Their multitudes if children
Flaying the skin from their backs
Strangling each other with their cords
My vision blurred
Tears of flame burning upon my cheeks.

I have been alone before the gates
As is my purpose, the lock for which
There is no key, save his clemency
Yet I know, as surely as my tears still fall
There will be no mercy.