Young Writers Society

I.



When in subtle mass I weighed, 

Latent boughs kicked fleshy drum. 

Falling circumstances staid

The appetite for love and thumb. 

Patience swaddled in the moons

Through clouds about my nebulous form; 

My origin loved me in monsoons

Though I was yet naught but worm. 

In sphere I was, as sphere I made

Tunnels of blood stretched heavenward, 

Ropes of life were spun and frayed

Nightish bastion, quelled in cord. 

Impelled toward wound, I came in span, 

My crest opposed the source of weight, 

Pain my propeller, namesake as man, 

Did I but inherit the strings of fate. 

I shivered off my cord and coil; 

And broke the primal virgin light

To live in truth and leave the soil, 

To regain my immortal sight. 



II.



Fissured promise come into I,

Archetype for languid age.

My marrow holds my red and sigh, 

Learns me of woman and my rage. 

These bones are frames for negatives, 

Skin mere cover for holy course, 

Shell shrouds the secret in me lives, 

Eyes making wine by yeast and force. 

The kiss of virgin vision lingers

As ghost of passion on my void. 

I feel a message beneath my fingers; 

Report of life slowly destroyed.  

Clouds overcast the firmest truth, 

Countenance ‘round disguised by thought; 

Yet in my plea, in prayer, in youth, 

I have found what I have sought. 

Pain of silence haunts the lash

But sores are sweet for seedling faith. 

My zeal burns with unseen ash;

In water, blood, and gall I bathe.  



III.



Then herald my decay, you brood

Who hold high your heavy, poisoned heads, 

Sing psalms of suffering misconstrued

As sun his bride horizon weds. 

Sinful season wraps its joints

Around the remnant blood and thought. 

With ash and dirt, the earth anoints

The son which from its loins was wrought.

Ascending mounts with broken load

Sacrifice upon my stem,

History climbs upon the road

Him to perish, to salvage them. 

Shroud covers naught but what is seen

And hides mere wooden ritual

Like infant love, we all must wean

Ourselves from all that is habitual. 

My soul rejects the hero’s fate

Limbs thrown in constellation fast

For by thistle’s draw was conquered hate

His blood upon the stars is cast. 



IV.



Rejoice! oh son of man and song,

To depths the night of love has spread!

Greenest shoot has cleansed your wrong

In sleep, man is no longer dead. 

Fugues fly from pipes veiled in my spine,

Honey and milk flow through my veins.

Promises rise at call divine

When only surrender forever reigns. 

Thrown from sea’s belly, chariots ride, 

Drivers cloaked in gloried flesh, 

They leave behind their drowning pride

And take their souls to rake and thresh. 

Glory blinds the trodden one

Yet darkness may caress the heart,

For only by the love of son

Can spring forth the better part. 

Hallelujah! Cries this stone

Blessed with tongue lacked in the crowd

Sole is my victory to atone, 

To shed my sin, to bow aloud.