My prison pen pal “Conway” has been experimenting with the prose-poem format while continuing to develop his gift for lyric poetry. I’ve been writing to him about my struggles with religious concepts of sacrifice and submission as I see them being misused in the church. I see those discussions reflected in his latest offerings, below.
Imagine, what His hand and throat began
through all of the silences we chopped out
in front of our father’s shining eyes.
I’ve no need to sing it anymore
or finish the melted words melody.
We can all see & smell around the burning nights nettle,
as fluttering moths fill this scene’s backdoor screens
tendering an irresistible invitation to attack
in search of a crack in the curtains’ narrow track.
While chance packs another perishable skull
tight enough to subsist, in the spiritual
shimmering lushness, of dawn’s faithful light.
The tears diminish in the theft of a wilting heart
bent willows seeking flesh, have wrought
every salt-sprinkled drop on our pillows;
To slit the silent throat of sacrifice,
tossed the herded cross, lost in prayers petition.
But it was broken breath,
following the trail to the bitter end
of this deep ravine, winding its way
south of Heaven…
Do you ever stare at your finger
if it could pull the trigger
or write the warrant
for the Judge’s execution
when a melting word
had burnished the herded cross
His head, was wrapped in nettle
from ear to ear
who really smeared the bloody spear
all over the doormat of our existence?
what is this shimmering silence,
this twisted blow, we’ll never know
the pagan eclipse, locked us all
out of an over-exercised church door
falling through the floor
unsure of our homeland,
of a hollow reed
still singing a satisfactory song
long after its death
dancing among the barbed smiles
that stole our breath…