The Supplicant by Kristen

He was the supplicate, eyes abashed in my glorious splendor
(his words, not mine),
as I gazed down at him in wonder at the transformormation overtaking
his frenzied prayers, fevered flicker eyes, frenetic pulling of hair,
eyes rolling, lolling,
hushed, hurried lating, anxious spittle escaping parched lips,
dilated pupils and grinding teeth.
The hands he finally stopped ringing, the rocking,
pounding on his bare scarred chest finally ceased.
He was at peace,
as long as he thought he was guiding me to resurrection and washing of all his sins...
(these were more torrid and also sad than could be fathomed at 8)
As long as I wore the wounds (lipstick only), and played the part with great seriousness
(bit tongue a lot),
and HE saw what he wanted, I was safe, cherished, his gem, his grail,
his perfect St. Maria and Jesus Christ into one.
He, Magdelene, washed my feet, soothed the welts, tended to the scratches,
and prepared my further martyr tutalage
with the excitement and trust of a child
he never was allowed to be. He saw what he needed,
and I WAS his savior, until I grew bored with the game...

Then the nativity exploded, the Christ Child bolted,
and he was left drooling in the dirt, forsaken.

Becky () -- Sunday, January 26 2003, 04:25 am

Your Gift For Words
Your gift for words never ceases to amaze me. Such Beauty from such ugliness. Treasure Yourself

Seizure (68.155.232.81) -- Wednesday, January 29 2003, 05:54 pm

hmm...
Kristen, you like to use a lot of really big words in this writing. It's a good way to keep people reading your poem for an hour as they need their dictionary handy. In all seriousness though, it was a good poem.

VeryShy (67.68.207.216) -- Tuesday, May 16 2006, 06:54 am

What a scene
Seems a little like a slice of reality privy to only one lonely, semi-enlightened soul, pertaining to another lost deluded mind, and packaged and sent out to a deaf world. Makes me feel not so alone.

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