Oh unblemished hand that holds
fifteen delicate petals of a rose . . .
You, non-trembling, youthful in your strength,
unsoiled by the preposterous propaganda
of illiterate insects . . .
come to us at this non-benevolent time
and caress away all the tattoos of sorrow
burned into our hearts.
For we have become numbed
inside a cross word puzzle of innuendo,
the rainfall behind our eyes is awash with the tragedy
of shattered social clouds.
So we call to you,
we plead to you with voices uncharted upon
the vast ocean of thought
and though we may be rudderless,
we are willing sailors ready to set forth
upon a pilgrimage resplendent
with untainted minds.
We call upon you to release our eyes
so that we may witness the unseen guardians
at the untouched gate of absolute truth.
For we are oh so tired of living locked away
behind rusty iron bars that,
in their complacency clad rigidity,
hold us like downcast angels,
far removed from Heaven.
We seek the open spaces,
the free form movement of liberated souls
that may in time recognize their initial purpose.
We call to awaken you from your historical slumber,
for we long to feel the warmth from your smile
of benevolence.
We call to you with a psalm of relinquishment . . .
Hear its yearning phrases,
understand the sadness of its longing
and its deep needed deliverance
from society’s gravitational pull.
So release us,
release us from the ignorance of our poverty,
release us from the blind subservience
that only leads to death,
from this constitution of conformity.
Release us from this broken down wheel barrow
compacted with tribulation and utter misery
and join your unblemished hand
with our Buddhist hands,
our Taoist hands,
our Hindu hands,
our Communist hands,
our Apache hands,
our Zenist hands,
our Christian hands,
our Sufi hands,
our Democratic hands,
our Atheist hands,
our Moslem hands,
our Shinto hands,
our Jainist hands,
our Agnostic hands,
our Nez Perse hands,
our wrinkled and aged hands,
our hungry and weak hands,
our pleading hands,
our hands folded in prayer,
our hands trembling
in horror,
our hands blemished
with a tapestry of blood,
our hands of innocence
and tenderness,
our hands that stroke
the infant’s face,
our hands that slowly try
to uncover the holy, mystical,
bless-ed sanctuary
of almost unseen possibilities
of compassion
to form
an ever growing circle
of human understanding.
For this unification has more power
than the pawnbrokers
of aggression
can ever, ever
imagine.
In a list
A contest entry
- Anything you want by fairytalelovestory.
625 points, ended April 11, 2008, 72 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - God will not prevent the storm, but He will help you through it. by Kooks.
300 points, ended May 14, 2008, 22 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - We Hold These Truths. by CountryCousin.
900 points, ended May 5, 2008, 13 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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You know.
Today in Sunday School we discussed what this country would be like today if prayer had not been discouraged in our schools. It is a right and as you have shown all are equal. Thank you for your entry.
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Thank you for entering my contest. Some wonderful ideas within the poem, i loved the repetition of all the different nationalities and beliefs within the poems, but i feel it slightly lost its direction towards the end.
Good Luck in the contest -
I am out of breath from reading this aloud to my husband...I had to read this to fill the words with sound to hear, in my own voice, the power I felt from them...Marc...your voice is not disjointed or diffused...it is clear and strong and fired with love. And carries more power than the ignorance, poverty and complaisance your write of...Bravo!...Rhonda
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Not muc else can be said after this. Well scripted, broher man. Write one. One.
Dez
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"and caress away all the tattoos of sorrow
burned into our hearts.
For we have become numbed
inside a cross word puzzle of innuendo"
I agree with Marianne, my Friend. This is a tremendous plea for salvation, a wonderful wailing in the wind for peace. May the breeze carry your words far & wide until all kneel in harmony. 
Wanda
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And no other hand can make the rose blossom more beautifully!
Magnificant prayer, Marc.
Wonderful work.
Marianne
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