The other day I was scanning through my blog entries on myspace for the address to my sister's blog site. I stumbled across this poem I wrorte during a hard time on my mission and I thought I'd share it. I still dont know the title so take it as is. ~Nathan
When the pistons grind
and the shackled joints swell,
the pulse of scraping chains
cause the dust to mix
with the sweat and blood of me.
After blazes of that crimson fire
scorched and cracked
my face, marred and bleeding
my soul at last has place for stature
and I know for whom and for what
I am broken.
6 comments:
Nathan, this isn't a poem. It doesn't rhyme. I'm sorry.
Seriously though, I really liked the last line. At least we, in the Church, know why we are broken down and shattered so frequently.
I like that it doesn't sound fakey. And I like the pulse of the chains line. Don't know if I read it right, but I like what I read.
Nate, don't listen to Matthew. I think he's joking or he's being an idiot. Nice, smashing, hard images.
But . . . Matthew. Much better picture. I think. Sort of. But you kind of look you just sucked on a lemon.
I liked this poem quite a bit. Simple, but very strong images and words. Nice work
Yeah, I was being an idiot. I did really enjoy the choice of words here. Simple but effective and powerful.
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