Guest Xradion Posted May 23, 2002 Report Posted May 23, 2002 Constantly caught in limbo. Floating past scenes of an infant Crucified in a burning manger, Like a baptism by fire. It’s the same scene I’ve always seen In my dreams, Or are they nightmares? I could never tell. Bombs fall on the battlefields Of my mind, as Reason falls prey To unrestrained passion. The child is alone But not afraid As he bleeds and burns On the cross. His crown is not of thorns, But of his own thoughts And his cross is not of wood, But of some unknown adamantine metal. He suffers, as love And hatred tear through His heart. Like Siamese sisters Of passion, paired and bound To one another since the fates Stitched the universe together. The adolescent on the cross Begins to suffocate, For his muscles cannot take The strain. And the fire begins To drain the air from the room, Leaving nothing but soot For the grown man to breathe. Xradion, The Horny Druid, Scholar of the Ancient Arts, Holder of the Eye of Odin. "The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream." -Wallace Stevens "When at home, do as the Homans do." –Xradion
Gyrfalcon Posted May 24, 2002 Report Posted May 24, 2002 I can almost understand what you're saying... but not quite. But that is a failing of my tired mind, not of your poetic skills. If I *do* understand you right, the child who belives he will never succeed, that flayed himself with what he believed he did wrong, and demanded more of himself then he could give, has stopped himself from ever having a chance at being successful as an adult. *Gyrfalcon applauds a good poem*
Guest Xradion Posted May 24, 2002 Report Posted May 24, 2002 Hmm... an interesting interpretation, though not really what I was thinking when I wrote this poem. Basically, this poem is about the duality of passion, how we crucify ourselves when we let our negative emotions overpower us. Hence the references to "bombs fallling on battlefields," and the uncertainty over whether this vision is a dream or a nightmare. This is also my take on a contemporary Christ (okay, that pretty much goes without saying, but I said it), how Christ is crucified every day by his own followers, even by himself in a metaphorical sense. How can a child possibly grow up and thrive in a world plagued with war and famine? That is the image I was going for. I think this poem is clearer if it is read immediately after "Kindling," as it is meant to be. As always, thanks for reading. I don't know how you keep up with everything, Gyrfalcon. Xradion, The Horny Druid, Scholar of the Ancient Arts, Holder of the Eye of Odin. "The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream." -Wallace Stevens "When at home, do as the Homans do." –Xradion Edited by: Xradion at: 5/24/02 1:12:15 am
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