XX/XXI

by 31   Oct 3, 2021


The plague pits, far from empty
Stir beneath your feet
They ache, they’re restless
They feed the weeds
In your head do you hear them
Over your heart beat
Over all your turmoil
Over all your needs

The pulpits, far from empty
Shepherds herd them in
To gorge themselves on scrapings
Scrapings from their skin
In your soul you feel them
Their cries reverberate
Above all your pity
Still rises father hate

    report violation
1


Did You Like This Poem?

Latest Comments

  • 3 years ago

    by Poet on the Piano

    This piece intrigued me from the start. Automatically, with "plague pits", I felt a certain distress, a restlessness, like souls stuck between this world and a much worse fate. Perhaps souls that are not able to pass, that are treated as expendable, used to feed chaos.

    With the second stanza, I immediately pictured a church filled with people who are hungry for some kind of redemption. Who need the words of the preacher/pastor in their life, the challenge, the scriptures. I interpreted it as a frenzy of souls who are apprehensive, akin to the first stanza, who need that focus and to be shepherded in, and it turns seemingly good people into those looking for answers and any ties to stay sane. To stay grounded. But they're still dissatisfied, despite teachings, despite prayer. I took "your pity" as meaning a presence from beyond, not of past or future, hard to locate, who watches and maybe is seeking to prey on these souls. The "father hate", a distaste for those who are seeking a father figure in religion, in God?

    Such a provoking piece!

    One note: The "you're" in the fifth and sixth line should be without the apostrophe I believe. Just "your".

More Poems By 31