A for Alone

June 1, 2009
By Rob Madden BRONZE, Berryville, Virginia
Rob Madden BRONZE, Berryville, Virginia
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

The church's mahogany doors,
Complemented by the brass handles,
Remind me of the “A” I have burned onto my heart.

The scorching metal burns my fleshy hands,
Now a puddle steaming on a stone threshold.
Wispy, wild dandelions, with white heads,
Explode into flames, feral as they.

My semi-conscious torso, weak and blistered,
Presses in the doors, mollified by the devil’s tongue.

Oh God!
The pews, now black skeletons.
The Bibles, now angry ravens.
The font, now boiling with ire.
The stained glass, now charred, monochromatic.

The withered corpse, stained with blood,
Pulls punctured limbs from the oak and iron cross.
Walking to the altar, I great the grisly priest,
With the devil’s eyes in his scarlet palms.

“My hours are married to shadow.”
The nave’s joints buckle, my mind melts.
The Doric columns, no longer fluted, snap,
Like wishbones without winners.
All descends.
All is cleansed.


The author's comments:
Just an emotion I could only explain through poetry.

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This article has 1 comment.


on Jun. 12 2009 at 3:50 am
xXsmileXx PLATINUM, St. Louis, Missouri
34 articles 0 photos 266 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Your dreams only become intangible when you stop reaching" ~me ;)

Interesting...i like it.


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