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Array ( [sid] => 107232 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Even the Holy Rot [time] => 2005-10-06 22:57:36 [hometext] => After not posting anything in months, I'm back, and better than ever. Here's a poem about the power of time. [bodytext] => Even the holy rot, in time.
Their unkissed lips turn black.
Like cracked leather,
Their fingers peel and curl
Before relaxing, for gravity’s sake,
At the complete loss of sinew.

Their stomachs, which many times over
Had born into them the flesh and blood
Of transubstantiation,
Fold over upon themselves
To make what nomads would surely use
As canteens, given the chance.

Their feet,
which held them before countless altars,
simply break off under geologic pressure.

The flow of rain carries the remnants
Of their last meals
Into the soil
While bones further calcify.

In time, even the holy wash away,
Their headstones and monuments smoothed
By the centuries of rainfall,
Their names run off with the ink
Of a cellarful of waterlogged ledgers,
Their stories changed as legends are retold,
Their births and deaths forgotten.

In time, even heaven’s memory
Slowly fades
As all director, producer, cast and crew
Of this epic saga
Lose sight of what really happened,
And the sum of all being is relocated
To myth. [comments] => 4 [counter] => 268 [topic] => 21 [informant] => Butterat_Zool [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 8 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )

Even the Holy Rot

Contributed by Butterat_Zool on Thursday, 6th October 2005 @ 10:57:36 PM in AEST
Topic: Lifepoems

Even the holy rot, in time.
Their unkissed lips turn black.
Like cracked leather,
Their fingers peel and curl
Before relaxing, for gravity’s sake,
At the complete loss of sinew.

Their stomachs, which many times over
Had born into them the flesh and blood
Of transubstantiation,
Fold over upon themselves
To make what nomads would surely use
As canteens, given the chance.

Their feet,
which held them before countless altars,
simply break off under geologic pressure.

The flow of rain carries the remnants
Of their last meals
Into the soil
While bones further calcify.

In time, even the holy wash away,
Their headstones and monuments smoothed
By the centuries of rainfall,
Their names run off with the ink
Of a cellarful of waterlogged ledgers,
Their stories changed as legends are retold,
Their births and deaths forgotten.

In time, even heaven’s memory
Slowly fades
As all director, producer, cast and crew
Of this epic saga
Lose sight of what really happened,
And the sum of all being is relocated
To myth.

Copyright Â© Butterat_Zool ... [ 2005-10-06 22:57:36]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Even the Holy Rot (User Rating: 1 )
by Archie on Friday, 7th October 2005 @ 12:47:05 AM AEST
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Interesting write. I can see what you write about in real life. Your words ring with much wisdom.

Re: Even the Holy Rot (User Rating: 1 )
by OzChick on Friday, 7th October 2005 @ 02:43:16 AM AEST
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Good imagery in this poem and great insight to the workings of history.

Re: Even the Holy Rot (User Rating: 1 )
by remote on Friday, 7th October 2005 @ 03:56:06 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

Good write. Yes there would be a day when even the sun would set for a last time and anyone to care too would be long gone.

Re: Even the Holy Rot (User Rating: 1 )
by Poetic_Influence on Wednesday, 25th January 2006 @ 02:18:08 PM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

The holy never rot, only the shell of us does

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