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Array
(
[sid] => 137023
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => Butcher, Baker, and Candlestick Maker
[time] => 2007-08-29 04:04:39
[hometext] => It's pretty pretentious, hopefully not unreadable but I'd appreciate any opinion.
[bodytext] => The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, Hard driven by the violence of heaven The man of the moor, in silent ar-dour Prays when the day is the seventh Red-haired flower girls blush when they cut The roses for men in silk suits And sigh when they find a wilted bud And dig up another dried root All scatter to eat, at dusk in the street Going to the house on the corner And let no one groan, let no one bemoan Lest he turn out a mourner For the spice smell will rise, and high it flies Wafting to Armageddon plain And if we should all die, and all of us cry We've none but ourselves to blame In the oven five chickens, a moment ago kicking Burn and spin tonight Their devil-red blood, soaked into the mud We'll burn Rome in beautiful light! But Rome burned itself Then Rome took us in And we can't burn Rome anymore The butcher cuts meat with his knife The baker breaks bread for his foe And the candlestick maker, alone and forsaken Reconciles this life with the next A red-haired girl, taxed of this world Weeps in each man's ear "Let not the teeth of life make me their wife But let not my soul disappear." The butcher is shy, the baker will cry But the candlestick maker is stern Her eyes go to him, so he begins 'Fore this child's belly will burn "You are young and impetuous, but don't ask for all of this," The candlestick maker spoke kind "Do not shun love from existence of hate Get thee from Satan behind." "The butcher will give you meat, the baker bread But they will not feed you ad perpetuam. Pray for strength and the bread of heaven Be grateful ad majorem Dei gloriam." "I am grateful," she exalted, salved of bitter nerves Relieved of the burden of the question Whose answer, she guessed, when naked and blessed Stemmed from not asking the question The cook from the kitchen, brings in the chicken They eat in unuttered grace Laughing and talking, broken but walking Their appetite displaced The three men part ways, close the curtain on the day And each man suffers his strains The butcher and baker go home, and the third man alone Sinks to the city's dank drain The butcher dreams, in erudite streams Of Mary with the Child The Baby cries, His mother sighs And starts to sing mild Songs of Zion, the Child knows not How His bones will be picked, Tarnished in time, how His bowels will be stretched In holy search of Him The baker runs, under the demon sun In the nightmare holed in his brain Lucifer screams loud, upright and proud Tempting him from the sane "I gave you fire, made you as gods You have debts to repay to me Shun your god for he's made you a slave You, baker in crux, rebel you be The candlestick maker walks on brown dirt and rocks Ignoring sharp pains in his head "The flower girl's eyes, welled from her cries How innocent she said what she said." "Simple like the rest, told she's complex Showed to prevent affirmation So that my wife's roses may stay trimmed sweet So that her sisters and father stay happy." And in the End, around the Bend The three men meet again With Him on the cross, a mother's child lost They cry for sacrifice and sin The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, Hard driven by the violence of heaven Cry to the man on the moor, who, in silent ar-dour Prays when the day is the seventh The butcher a knave, the baker a knave The candlestick maker the same With sins unatoned and unburdened bones All shall die full of days [comments] => 4 [counter] => 2935 [topic] => 11 [informant] => AndreiHileaga [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => ChristianPoetry )
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