The item you were looking for was deleted.
Poetry / Is there nothing sacred?
A patch of glazed red hangs potently from you;
Covered as it may be, it is there. Raw as the son.
It means something, what He cannot discern;
But in rawness He is versed.
That alone could kill: beating heart,
And mind, and soul reduced to naught but ash.
But the cry of it is final, the scream eternal;
Save but a laughing bag and a sagging ache.
The sacred book, quite unholy, has seen it:
Glinting pain amidst roar of time.
But it knows not what to say, beyond the savoured:
“Is there nothing sacred?”
You need to log in to urbis or create an urbis account to review this writing.
Reviews
Sort Reviews by Newest | Oldest | Highest Quality | Lowest Quality | Newest Comments |
I must say I have read your poem 4 times over and trying to analyze and break it down. I must say I enjoy it and it makes me think. I love the imagery and the word choice. But could you reveal to me exactly what you meant by the poem.
my fav line was every line but if i have to choose it would be line 5 through 8.
lovely poem tho..truly…
sammi :)
- add/view comments (3)
Showing 1 - 1 of 1
Review item
Add to faves
GENERAL
REVIEW QUEUE
Ratings & Rankings
