There are no gods,
only obscured paladins;
heroic champions wearing chain mail
in lieu of enlightenment.
Time has left life vacant.
Vision pronounced its claim
with measured rivers
and sea salts rationed beyond generations;
blisters on cleaned slates.
Mortar has emerged as
history's rubble,
riveting simple mounds;
shelter for what remains.
Yet, the same constellations sing.
Orion graces a winter sky
above an unkempt, motley, and barren orb.
Winter, indeed.
A similar chill touches what once were
warm yellow summers,
fresh green springs
and rusted autumns.
It is the bite left
by bleeding fingers
too eager to push power,
erasing the stone in God's name.
There are no gods,
only broken men;
withered creatures
of self righteous mockery
praying for what had once been
life.
A contest entry
- Earn your points... by crisstiena.
5000 points, ended December 26, 2008, 33 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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Good write, this one brought back in time to the days of the crusades and knights wearing chain mail. Good imagery and descriptions, Thanks for sharing and good luck in the contest.
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Love the first line...
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"There are no gods,
only broken men;
withered creatures
of self righteous mockery
praying for what had once been
life."
This blew me away. Wonderful writing and structure combined with excellent word choices and mature concepts. First class!
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I like this Pam
Kind of a narative.
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this is beautiful and I loved this piece. Especially the title. I am an atheist so the title of this piece grabbed my attention right away. I also liked the way you ended this piece. It makes me think of how the world could be such a wonderful place, but sadly because of the wars being fought it just isn't and that's unfortunate. Thanks for sharing your talent and best of luck in the contest.
Haley Mary
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this poem just stunned me ... I really don't know what to say.
you have just given language to such depth that is held by all of us but we only sense this.
bookmarked and good luck in the contest.
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now that is a poem one can chew on like mental jerky
bookmarkin this one to peruse later.
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