Description: 1 Then shall the kingdom of heaven be likened unto ten virgins, which took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom.
2 And five of them were wise, and five were foolish.
3 They that were foolish took their lamps, and took no oil with them:
4 but the wise took oil in their vessels with their lamps.
5 While the bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept.
6 And at midnight there was a cry made, Behold, the bridegroom cometh; go ye out to meet him.
7 Then all those virgins arose, and trimmed their lamps.
8 And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our lamps are gone out.
9 But the wise answered, saying, Not so; lest there be not enough for us and you: but go ye rather to them that sell, and buy for yourselves.
10 And while they went to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that were ready went in with him to the marriage: and the door was shut.
11 Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to us.
12 But he answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you not.
the Tenth Virgin c. by ruejacobs -------------------------------------------
(c. by ruejacobs March 6, 2010 10 p.m.)
What is this creature which devours you,
Oh my sisters?
Foolish and wise as well
Faithful, diligent and scratching at his door
I will tell you now:
It is desire
Here some of you trim the wick and lift your lamp
Hike your dresses to your knees
While the others scramble to get their share
Careworn and crawling on calloused knees
I have spent all of my oil
And yet I do not tremble for him
While you filled your hope chest
With nothing more than promises
I cast those promises to the wind
What I suffer now is no more than your own fates
You do not realize the futility of preparation
I tell you true, my sisters,
I have seen the light
Bathed in it
Danced in it
I have my memories while you have
Nothing but a lamp and the word of a fickle man
I took what was offered
Held my tongue
And used what I was given straight away
While your own oil curdled
And evaporated into thin air
You might mock me
Call me names;
But this grasshopper is just one ant
Who never caught his eye
Or felt his boot come crashing down upon her mound
When he came for you in the bedchamber
Oh so-called wise ones,
Did you feel that eye turn upon you
Mark you like a fist?
Sweet well-lit flesh and blood
A bone broken on the altar of his hunger
The better to draw out your marrow
And crush it into snake oil
There are more virgins on the horizon, my lovelies
And what he has used once
He discards like cornhusks
You see how hollow you have become
Too late you regret all that wishing
You think to take back
Those scratches etched onto his door
Spit in one hand, wish into the other
It’s a lesson I have learned well
Hope is an icicle, melting away
And faith is steam
Where has it gone,
Can you tell me?
Where has it gotten you?
I walked into the forest when my own oil ran out
I refused to be drawn to those promises
I could recognize the celebration for what it was:
Anticipation of the sacrifice to come
The smooth curved flesh melting into gravy
The cool arc of white bone ground under the pestle
And now you are sifted back into the soil
To nourish the roots of newer grain
An endless procession of fallow fields
And orderly rows
To please his acquisitive eye
I will not be admired
I know what comes of that
Here in the cool of the jungle
My eyes have grown accustomed to the dark
The marrow in my bones is spent solely on myself
And my flesh has grown calluses
Like the bark of the ironwood trees
i always bow to what you have between your ears when it comes to the myth; the spirit and to a lesser but just as important an extent, the ecumenical...
you seam to draw breath on un-picking belief systems that have impacted on your own which, from what i have gathered over the last just-about-six years (yes just about six years) are polytheic and delightfully self-fulfilling.
this then is a departure of sorts because:
1. it is long and
b. it is published under a misnomer because this is a rant, in umpteen parts that have been loosely affiliated to make a shaking, barely restrained whole.
this is an ambitious write for you becaue you have spilled (and spelled) a lot out but you know, the one common factor is that it still reads like you puked it up and then wiped your lips with the back of your hand - and then puked up some more...
i say this because in keith world, your breaks are all over the place and historically, i have been able to go with them but this time knot.
and i won't even go into focking about with it, because it's more graffito than poem-o despite its excellent heritage and faultless research.
to me this is like pissing on the trees that need pissing on to make a point - and that makes me like it all the more, you scary old broad...