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Post-war Sacrifice/The Alms of Body and Blood

by Therese Elaine

And so we come to this deserted street;
where blooded promises drift about
like curls of discarded confetti...

the parade left long ago

(somewhere a bell tolls -
we are called to prayer)


Your fingers delicately
move over the rosary of me;
those stations of flesh and flagellation -
those fervent whispers,
and swollen endearments.


I am absolved...
as your blessings burrow in the folds
of the only sanctity I can call my own


This is clean,
this is clean,
amidst the grime
of seven deadly sorrows
in a broken confessional booth;

This is holy,
this is holy,
among the remnants
of a language we lost
to spatial transgressions.


(somewhere a bell tolls-
we are called to take shelter)


Your fingers reverently
smooth this altar cloth over my knees;
as my tears water down old wine,
and you feast off of my crucifixion gasps-
I am reborn - again.


I am exalted...
as your blessings burrow in the folds
of the only salvation I can call my own


And so we come to a deserted street;
where broken promises drift about
like the ashes of burnt offerings...

these gods left a long time ago

this is clean
this is holy
this is clean
this is holy




We are what they meant
when they spoke of the promised land

05/24/2010

Author's Note: Tribute owed, is tribute earned...

Posted on 05/25/2010
Copyright © 2020 Therese Elaine

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by George Hoerner on 05/26/10 at 02:40 AM

This is a strong write with a strong statement. Very enjoyable read!

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 05/26/10 at 04:08 AM

Brilliant from beginning to end. You have such a fine touch.

Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 05/26/10 at 06:21 PM

Wonderful use of form and style, with the words more than able to back that up.

Posted by Johnny Crimson on 05/27/10 at 12:09 PM

This leaves me feasting off of every "crucifixion gasp" you've got.Better yet, I'd love to fester. Amazing. :)

Posted by Max Bouillet on 05/27/10 at 01:09 PM

There are so many themes intricately woven on this poetic fabric. Sex, religion, war, and a desperate need to be cleased. The devastation is clearly evident in the word choice. Those that are left are cloaked in desolation looking to an old system for salvation but finding only flesh in the rubble. The two uses of the bell are very moving. The first is calling us for worship and the second is warning us to take shelter. By contrasting them as you do... the bell almost becomes a warning of those that say they want to save us. This is a great read that will keep me thinking for quite some time. Thank you for sharing.

Posted by Joe Khan on 06/06/10 at 04:56 PM

In love with your style.

Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 06/25/10 at 02:34 PM

damn! what can i say? the style, the imagery, very powerful, very raw, it compliments itself. awesome piece!

Posted by Laura Doom on 02/16/15 at 12:20 AM

Ah, the seven deadly sorrows adrift in a sky of confetti--I may just fold myself up and surrender to drowning...

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