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Scripture in the Sand
I met some island natives
The apple of their Eye
Was the city behind the setting Sun
Amid acres of rosy-red sky
Their skin the color of dreaming
Their hair like the lion’s mane
Their cloaks and dresses quilted
Out of freshly-fallen rain
Their village was built from yew trees
The stones were black and white
They fed off the fragrance of the air
And drank only cups of light
To speak, for them, was singing
To step forward was to run
They had heard of a thousand spirits
And that a thousand could be One
Their prayers were always earnest
They murmured through their ears
Laughing, it was all of their laughter
Crying, it was all of their tears
They had a certain scripture
Or a song, perhaps, in their hearts
Which spread through the soul like a sunbeam
Or a stag, when it leaps and darts
When each day was created
In the furnace of fiery dawn
One would look towards the scent of the ocean
And wander, silently, on
He would reach the beach and walk until
His feet touched upon the sea
Then kneel to kiss the damp shore
Which hugged his bended knee
Then the sunlight lit up the fingertips
On his gently outstretched hand
With it, he caressed the golden shore
And carved the Scripture into the sand
The spidery words along the coast
Would dance beneath the clouds
They were unfurled from around a beating heart
An opened book, an unraveled shroud
I watched this many mornings
But each day, the hungry tide
Would sweep away the hand-carved words
And cast my glowing eyes aside
I wept for the erosion of beauty
And for the loss of what I read
While I sat so still upon the beach
With a slightly bowing head
The natives saw me weeping
So they whispered unto me
That the writing on the golden shore
Was a gospel to the sea
So now I understand the stars
And the lines upon my hand
And love and death and sorrow
And the Scripture in the sand
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This article has 12 comments.
Madness is one of my many favorite bands. That particular song reminds me of Yellowstone, rain, and fence posts.
I think so, if you mean what I think you mean.
"Look, what have I become? Distancing myself so far and from
But gazing out I waved the night boat on, for now it's heaven in deepest Tottenham." I'll admit, it's not the kind of music I usually listen to, but I found it to be a great song. I spent a half hour looking over the words. Much madness is divinest sense, I guess. :)
Doth the Amoniel hear my call?
Have you ever heard the Madness song 'Fallen For A Lamppost'?
That is beautiful.
I'm glad, you answered with your spirit. It's a bit difficult asking such questions, but it's even harder for one to allow their spirit to seep into the words which they project into the world.
Lampposts, I will say, have a very large role in my odd life; I have befriended many of them. They make excellent guardians, and they know quite a lot; for they are travelers, though they appear to be rooted in the ground.
Lampposts are beacons, invitations to strange and magical worlds where they were planted into new born worlds as twisted weapons wielded by witches. The new born earth breathed new life into them, and they grew as wholesome and pure way-lighters.
Lamp posts are also quite bothersome when the full moon is out, but as with all things, they are light and dark, like their black metal and shining souls.
(I do so love strange questions, few have the courage to ask them.)
I float upon a thousand sighs, as they rise from the parted lips of the poets and the lovers, and that's how I keep the city behind the setting Sun in sight. Because breath is spirit, as you must know, and the spirit always yearns to rise.
Now, for a strange question (and one that probably won't mean anything to you): what are your thoughts of lampposts?
