Silent Acquiescence

He clamps the Bible in his hands and recites the vows. I toss in the air a shaking left hand and I look over my shoulder as I say I believe. It comes out as a question instead. This brown puddle should cleanse me of my grim.

The man of God is wabbly from my weight, the might of my iniquity, the same lake waters which these trees have drank to their own death, take me whole as I am sinful and half repentant, and I am born again. I drain my ears of the muck that licked its way inside and the graveyard in my womb rattles with incipient bones.

oh ancient of days with hair of white, a hallow and a veil,

Thy kingdom come... trains of blue of frothing immortality,

Thy will be done, not our glory and shame untoward.

Give us this day, bones that do not crumble,

fill with patience, the empty bellies of our younglings,

and with a breath of life refill our lungs, withered by days of toil.

Embalm our souls of ash and blood, affray with malice,

forgive these hands bloodied and torn,

these fingers turned into stone, graveyards of sin,

Forgive impunity and war and Satan for his vitiated thirst.

Lead us not, to the stories our beings repudiate,

Hoist our feet from the pallid trysts, into healing,

To the frigid voids of our chests burning with grief, place apricity,

Satiate our ribs, dear Lord, with endless pebbles of coal, broiling,

To our broken wings, strength to rise to air,

Lift our heads that now bow, chanting litanies to the dead.

Be a refuge and a shelter for our puffed eyes of red,

And our lips quivering in quiescence,

Handpick the wrath from our earthly feet,

Provide a waterfall, hope cascading in silent array.

For thine is the kingdom,

the glistening orb of celestial commands,

the flock without shepherds,

and the precepts that befog,

The bones trapped underground and non-humans with their music,

A finger on a button, a building turned to rubble.

For thine, is the power,

and the whispers of walls and of memory,

A world from beyond, before the future of time,

the unbirthed pangs, now blades slicing through my guts,

Thine is the gaze of the old gods of myth and of song,

From Aphrodite worshipped by the waves,

To the crown of Troy falling at the sword,

of the grey-eyed daughter of Zeus, Athena.

For thine is the glory,

the expanse that stirs the stars,

even after the end of the earth.

Return my beauty to the skies and the hungry hands

still throbbing with want on my skin,

to their sick owners.

Dispossessed of mind and heart,

I want to be free from myself.

Amen.

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