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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: Gaiadots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: endlessgame23
    ASL Info:    25/f/The Endless Table
    Elite Ratio:    3.84 - 21/25/20
    Words: 405
    Class/Type: Prose/Dark
    Total Views: 44
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2165



    Description:
       Mother of Mercy


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsGaiadots
    -------------------------------------------


    She is The Martyr. Gifted to us, by God, as Freedom from our Sins. All we need do is be the hand that carries the Whip. A frayed rope of old, exposed wires and duct tape.
    We walk, we pray, we lash. One for each awful thought, every temptation satisfied, every gilded rule broken. The whole World forgiven by her screams; washed innocent in the crimson spray that flies through the atmosphere to bless our carnal flesh as we beat her down. Her once lovely face, contorted by pain, eyes so tightly closed upon themselves they barely allow the salty rivulets of soothing atonement to escape. She cries out from the hurt, but never begs release. Not one whisper to cease the incessant whip of every human failure thrust upon Her.
    I hear She used to smile, in some long ago eon, when there was no Human to Witness.
    I also hear, She likes this debasement of Herself. Craves it even. Why else would She be shackled and prostrate before us? She is a glutton for punishment, for Her Life would be empty of purpose if it weren't for we Sinners to fulfill Her Destiny.
    Others gossip, that She volunteered because no one else was able and fit for the task at hand. The Whipping Hand. That She knew if she did not bear Witness, Humanity would crumble and fall under the weight of every Transgression against Humanity. Pieces, every one of us, into the Abyss. So the last Angel of Eden presented Herself as a gift of Salvation to watch us ascend unto Heaven.
    Our only Hope to fly.
    But, I wonder, how long will She suffer we fools?
    It is my turn for prayers.
    I ask the Stars above in the eye of God, to replenish her strength. I pray this for my own selfish needs to be Forgiven and for She Herself. I pray again for forgiveness of being Forgiven of my Sins.
    I wish I was not weak, I wish I was not a Sinner; but I am only Human. All that I am or ever will be. I pray forgiveness.
    While the eyes of Heaven are blind, I bend to kiss and caress the light pink, puckered flesh of new scars. Old wounds barely healed before they are opened again in punishment. Punishment for... God, only, knows.




    Submitted on 2017-08-07 19:07:15     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      I reckon prose suits you. You are descriptive in this write and take us through a range of emotions quite naturally and forcefully at times. I reckon that's how you should write your poetry. Intense, intensely direct, intensely logical, intensely deft. Pick out one thing that is a gut punch for you (in a good way, in a bad way, in a sensual way, in a heartbroken way) and be of the mind of getting only to that. Picture yourself in a room with a high exit window. Use only frayed rope, exposed wires and duct tape to get there....

    you know, like you did with this. :)
    | Posted on 2017-08-13 00:00:00 | by Daniel Barlow | [ Reply to This ]


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