Poetic Interlude IX

Happy Sunday, Gentle Reader! I’m going to try to keep Poetic Interludes to Sundays. At any rate, here comes one now!

The Prophets

Tell me how the prophets were
When they were young men –
Did they lust, and drink, and fight,
Get dirty, now and then?
Did they jump to join the brawl
To settle brother’s score?
Did loyalty, fidelity,
Surge from every pore?
Did honour grow like cock’s comb
As on sons of gods of war?

Tell me what the Prophets did
When they were young men –
Were they brash and bold and brave
And cocky, now and then?
Were barefoot runs up craggy trails
A commonplace event?
Were evenings spent in shady bars?
Were their youths misspent?
Were brothers pushed to dare and dream
And let the blood ferment?

Tell me how the Prophets lived
When they were young men –
How could later holy work
Compete with youthful sin?
How to fold in animal,
Whose influence was banned?
How faces flick with scars and smiles
When caged in Promised Land!
How did they hide from history
All that made them Man?

Creation

Was it trapped inside your head,
That long, eternal, night?
Did pressure build until you said,
“I’m done. Let there be light.”?
Did Eden spring forth fully formed,
Like this poor poem of mine?
Did you try to medicate
With Opiates, and wine?
When you saw the Publisher,
Did he question your design?

When thoughts of Adam came to you,
Did you feel every volt?
Was the Serpent in the plan?
And was the end result?
Did creation conquer you,
In sudden, screaming, rush?
Were you pinned betwixt, between
Panic, rage, and lust?
Did you doubt your work that day?
Did they get the thrust?

 

©2013 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved

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About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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