Modern Articles of Faith — George Moore

July 28, 2012 § 1 Comment

BW Building: by Chuck Taylor

Inside cragged walls, a ruined church, boys are
kicking a ball where a king once crowned his son
and told him, mercy will not save you. By our time,

only the yard around the cathedral walls is left,
and we hump history through the broken arms of doors,
to stone breastplates of sarcophagi worn nameless,

though a flyer says another king was born, died, and then
the church followed. Spaces now open to the sky.
The ball rolls to a stop before our feet and dies,

as shouts go up through the hobbled choir, half-fallen
archways once hung with heavy tapestries,
and now the sounds of boys screaming decrees.

With evening, the ghosts arrive. The son beheaded
by his father, the king, when there was talk
of treason. I snap a shot of the ruptured cupola

as night creeps in. It’s too cool for this season,
but the grass has come to life, the ramparts fall to darkness,
as the boys pick up their ball and head for home.

Tethered – Hailey Shapiro

July 4, 2012 § Leave a comment

Untitled: by Zareh

     Nothingness. Just peacefulness that I know I will never again experience. It is nearly dark, yet there is a soft illumination that allows me to see. What am I? What is my purpose? I want to have a purpose, to be something, someone, important.
     I feel movement. I am not moving, but that in which I am encased is. Time. What is it?  What good does it do to ponder the length of the day which has passed? Time has no meaning, as I have no meaning.
     The light grows brighter now. I am slowly moving towards the brightness. I feel warmth. I am being expelled from that which encased me. I can see. All around me are trees, with bark a dull and almost lifeless brown.
     Green tips are scattered over brittle twigs that flow into branches. I am a green tip. I am a leaf. I now have a purpose. I reason to live. I am to collect the rays of the sun, so that the tree may eat and thrive. I now serve as one in the community.
     Time still has no meaning, and yet things are changing. I have grown and unfurled to my fullest potential. I enjoy being a ray collector, of serving, but grow weary of my post. I want to shove off from the twig that holds me up high. But I can’t. I am tethered.
      I am weary now. My task is completed. I have done my job well, yet received no recognition. I long to be free, to do as I wish. I wish to dance through the air. I linger between a golden yellow and a vibrant crimson, a prima ballerina just waiting for a chance.
     A strong gust blows by and I embrace it. I am gently lifted and blown about, wishing I could follow its magnificent path, unhindered and free. A second gust comes, stronger, and finally, my tether is severed.
     I am free, none can hold me. Gravity is but a word, a notion. Nothing can stop me as I fly, floating in a winding river of air. I do not resist, but move with it, twirling and dancing. Suddenly, the wind ceases and all is still. Then slowly, I fall. Freefall. This is freedom. Nothing holds me up. Nothing pushing me left or right, or even down. I can go wherever I please. As I begin my slow descent, I do one last thing. I put my whole being into it and start to spin. A blur of gold and crimson, I spin and glide as a ballerina to the floor.
     I have served my purpose. I was part of something great. I made a difference.
     A little girl stops to pick me up, and twirls me about between her fingers. She smiles and exclaims how pretty I am. Then she carefully places me between the pages of her book, and I know that to her I am very special.

Where Am I?

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