It appears that this
sequence will grow to four, and
may yet grow to five.
Here: more beautiful
than those upheld by liars.
Hidden in plain sight.
Next: the holy who
will never exist. At least
they will not be raped.
And who are you who rape my Gods when long
Have They returned to ash, and dust, and bone?
What right have you to dash Them, cruelly thrown
And bleeding, from the Heights where They belong?
And who are you ignoble beasts; you throng,
Who violate and scourge Them unbeknown,
Then take your turn upon each vacant Throne
While still They fall, unknowing, from this wrong?
Do you believe your acts are in the right;
As though belief could claim to sanction rape?
Or take you carnal pleasure in the night,
While horrified Their past devoted gape?
Or do you quake with fear while knowing well:
The least such lie will have you burn in Hell?
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all:
It’s more direct now.
I Like this version better.
Much more personal.
It now has the punch
I wish I could deliver
With my own two fists.
What is that light, now,
Raging from the east? A sun?
Many more will rise.
And who are these who rape my Gods when long
They have returned to ash, and dust, and bone?
No right have these to slash Them, cruelly thrown
And bleeding, from the Heights where They belong.
And who are these ignoble beasts; this throng,
Who mutilate and rape Them, unbeknown,
Then take their turn upon each vacant Throne,
While still They fall, unknowing, from this wrong?
Do these believe their acts are in the right;
As though belief could claim to sanction rape?
Do these take carnal pleasure in the night,
While horrified Their past devoted gape?
Or do these quake with fear, while knowing well,
Their lie alone will have them burn in Hell?
~~~ who ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~ are ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~ these ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ?
So often do I feel myself alone;
A shadow-being as dwelt in shadowed land;
Within a hidden place of shadowed sleep;
To drift within the dreams of others; and
Although I live surrounded, I am prone
To wake whilst do they rest. So lonely, I;
At best: am tossed to shadows and their keep;
And, though I prize the quiet time thereby–
Such times, surreal they seem; as unbeknown–
Am I, to any life beyond my mind–
Enveloped, parallel, and buried deep
From all of God’s creation–misaligned.
Until I’m thrown, myself, to dream; and make
To leap and join the world, wherefore I wake.
…Circadia.
David Emeron: Sonnets 