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Eucharist

movingfingermovingfinger Posts: 117
edited June 2005 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
Eucharist


In a crowd
Standing amongst
Grey shades
Of living colors
I find myself
Staring into dark
Shrouds
And milky
Whites with
Blood splattered—

Flesh
Ascends
In a spiraling
Whiplash
Orbit
And falls
Into
My mouth

I spit it out
Because it
Tastes of warm
Copper blood,
Sweat, sin
And I know
Not
What I have denied
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The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word of it

-- Omar Khayyam
Post edited by Unknown User on

Comments

  • Traver DiDiminicoTraver DiDiminico Posts: 185
    On a total aside, my friends and I once wanted to market a product called "Eucharitz." Tastes just like the real thing (cause I don't know about anyone else but we thought they were mighty tasty) but without the cannibalism.

    Rock on with your bad self
    If there was a chair in which I could comprehend, I would stand always and embrace the path
  • Ms. HaikuMs. Haiku Posts: 7,265
    I think this is very good. It adds meaning to what could be just a ritual that should have meaning. I think it forced me to stop and to question what I felt about the subject of the poem.
    There is no such thing as leftover pizza. There is now pizza and later pizza. - anonymous
    The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
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