Well, school is back in session. So, of course I'll be dilly-dallying on my laptop avoiding my true writing assignments. Though to ease myself back into the the blogosphere, I'll start off with a poem I'm turning in tomorrow for my poetry 406 class.
James, brother of Jesus
I could build you.
Build you high in the sky
Like a reaching tower,
Or hope gripped in a child’s strong hand.
I could help you plant roots
So that you went deep in the earth
And found your ground,
And when rain falls it’d seep into your pores
And you’d grow, never drown.
But, no.
I did not build.
I did not plant.
I threw fire from my tongue.
It singed your cheek,
And burned your eyes.
Its flame created a chill,
And froze your exposed mind.
I engraved your tombstone
Poured death where you once possessed life,
My small arrows overtook you
One flame at a time.
I praise God
And I curse you.
Bitter tastes
in sweet waters
How can it be?
What a small tongue,
What a great wrath.
I could build you.
I threw fire instead.
