Glass

Rub the little beads between your fingers

As you hear the echo of our singers

Whisper and chant and sweetly pray

As you're answered with only pure decay

 

Give your confession to remove the blight

Curses and horses and every delight

Don't walk into the warm, warm flame

I still very much like this little game

 

It's soft and quiet here

Not a single thing to fear

It's safe and pretty here

Not a single thing to fear

 

Rub the little beads between your bleeding fingers

As you hear the echo of angel singers

Whisper and chant and foolishly pray

As you're answered with only pure decay

 

Give your confession to remove the blight

Curses and horses and every human delight

Don't walk into his warm, warm flame

I still very much like my little game

 

It's soft and quiet here

Not a single thing to fear

It's safe and pretty here

Not a single thing to fear

 

Rub the little beads between my broken fingers

As I hear the echo of fallen angel singers

Whisper and chant and faithlessly pray

As I'm answered with only pure decay

 

Give my confession to remove my blight

Curses and horses and my every human delight

Don't walk into his warm, warm flame

I still very much like my little game

 

It's safe and quiet here

Not a single thing to fear

It's safe and pretty here

Not a single thing to fear

 

 

Author's Note

kinda free-handed this. no particular direction at first but interpretation is always open. mine i suppose is struggle with religion/faith as it mirrors the struggle between yourself. the 'i' and 'me' in the poem can be 'god' or you. its both in my head. enjoy, hope you guys like it!

Reviews

[Kitten]

My mind is twisting over this 'game' business. The game of living? Or the game of juggling faiths. Thought provoking and thoroughly delightful. Thank you for the read.

[Aria]

thanks so much LadySue. Never thought of this to be songlike, but that's a compliment. so thanks again. :) and yes, there was a struggle in this, maybe recent or maybe from the past, but struggle all the same. thanks!

[Ladysue]

highly lyrical..I agree it reads like a song...some very good images in this piece that show the internal struggle. excellent writing...

[Aria]

Much appreciated, Antonio. Thanks again for reading.

[Antonio Valentino]

very lyrical, it reads like a song...

Rub the little beads between your bleeding fingers
As you hear the echo of angel singers
Whisper and chant and foolishly pray
As you're answered with only pure decay

Give your confession to remove the blight
Curses and horses and every human delight
Don't walk into his warm, warm flame
I still very much like my little game

So do I... no warm fires for me... not yet anyway :)

Splendid writing Aria.
Mucho enjoyed.

Antonio

[Shirade]

I really like this. :) The idea of rubbing glass between your fingers strikes imagery of pleasure/pain, control/chaos. But the ever changing line of "still liking this/my game" made me think that although the narrator thinks they're in control it doesn't necessarily seem that way. As god or any human being (if you don't believe in predestination) there are ultimately things that are out of our control. I hope this makes some sense, if not that fancy education of mine failed. ;) P.S.- HIII senorita! :)