Out of the darkness

A creative interpretation of our world, the gospel, and my Savior.

From the darkness of the womb,

                I came unto the shadow of the Earth

Knowing not which way

Is

               Left,

  nor

 right.

But eventually I learned,

                Eventually I was able to discern

My left

From

                My right.

But blinded I was,

                And wounded, mortally.

Though I was given life,

I was birthed into death.

 

Rancid flesh,

                And festering infection 

Taught me to taste,

                And because my senses were ill,

The smell grew ever sweet,

                Like the aroma of putrescence wafting from the fields of the damned 

Mixing with the stench of grandmothers baking overflowing from the oven,

                And my nose cannot tell which is which,

And my hunger,

                The pang in my gut is never sated.

But time goes on,

And you get use to drinking from the waters of filth,

                                Because living here

Is what we do,

                And we’ve learned to survive.

 

We walk the roads at night,

Wandering,

Like the lost,

                For the light is ever receding,

Like the tide on its way out,

                Only it never comes to hug the shore as it did before.

As I make my way down the dark and winding paths,

                                I stumble

           And fall

                           But my landing is cushioned

By those who have fallen before me,

                                Though they rot,

As I rot,

                                And together,

Slowly as it may be,

           We are dying,

Our slimy feculence seeping from one wound to the next

                And contagion is rampant.

 

 

The sick aid the sick,

                And the blind guide the blind

Because they think they know which way they are going,

Both think they know the cure,

                But the light they see is shrouded in a resplendent obscurity,

And the syringe is filled with sweet malignance,

                And those who follow are led to into the soft and clammy hands of death,

But their senses are deadened,

And they can’t feel the cold and moist fingers caressing their face,

Tucking them into the bed of their demise.

 

But there are those,

                Who are rare to find,

           That lead not in the direction of death, but

They talk of someone who came from a land of life,

Bringing the tide of light to hug us once more, and illuminate our path.

They tell of He who came long ago

                To the darkness of our world

Giving food to eat, and water to drink,

And showing us the worms and gelatinous filth that filled our plates.

He refreshed our streams, and revived our fields, they say,

And the wounds, oh they talk of the many wounds He healed,

And

of the Life

He has                                                                                                                                  that overflows

so much                                                                                                                             that death itself

could not                                                                                                                         keep Him asunder

From He

who gives

Life.

I saw these people, and asked them

 ‘Where are the rivers you speak of?

‘The food you talk about?

‘And the healing of which you boast?

‘For my eyes have not gazed upon that which you speak.’

 

They said not a word,

But instead smiled,

Took my hand,        

And

led

me

down

a

path

guided

by

Lampposts,

            Tall,

                       Green

          And

 Spiraling

                     With

    Leaves

With a bulb atop that twinkled with a light, though faint,

Allowed me to see the bones of my feet

And the infection of my body.

They fed me,

Gave me a place to rest,

And water to quench my thirst.

But before I left their hospitality,

They breathed a word,

And from their mouths a light, and a ghostly wisp

Came out.

I did not back away or repel it with my hand,

But I breathed from their breath,

And flesh wrapped my bones,

And infection left my body, and

And a strange thumping sprung forth from my chest.

 

In my hand they placed

A seed,

Though the size of a mustard,

And said,

‘Plant this in the ground,

‘And from it a post will grow, green and leafy,

‘Full of life which overflows,

‘It will shine like those which you have seen

‘And those who see it will know the way home.

‘But be warned,

‘Not all who see will follow,

‘And not all who follow will be true.

‘Some will seek to contaminate you with the filth of this world

 ‘And others will want your destruction

‘But keep planting,

And keep seeking the lights

 Like those you have seen

                                So that if you die

                           You die not in vain

         For from your death,

I pray,

that some may be birthed from the darkness

Into the Light of Heaven.’

Author's Note

picture belongs to http://smurfkai.deviantart.com/