Christ- Original Poetry

Shields of gold blaze in the illumination of
an everlasting sun.
Grains of mercury-red sand scratch at the bottoms of
their feet. The dusty heat
permeates their lungs.
These demigods march on, sheathed
in pure linen. Leaves of bay affixed to their
heads. Great leather writhes
in the hands
of few, and thorns wrapped by
wreath in fewer.
A brutal switching falls.
Hot stones lie on their beds
watching our demarcating history.
Ancient splinters assume our
martyr.
She spills to the floor, lamenting.
A wonderful sight, this immaculate
conception, fixed to the
earth like a thirsty weed.
In passing, the Devil
swaddles the baby in lily-white cambric-
the ultimate paragon.

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2 thoughts on “Christ- Original Poetry

  1. blahpolar says:

    You’re one of the few poets I actually bother to read out here in the blogosphere. You write bloody well. Tyvm for not inflicting more amateur emo freeform wafty verse on the Internet.

    I like this poem a whole lot. And seeing Christ and poetry so close together would normally make me run away asap.

    Liked by 1 person

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