From Feast upon the Word (http://feastupontheword.org). Copyright, Feast upon the Word.
Jude: unwritten semi-chorus
the siren's warning, faded now,
still rings before my eyes in ashes--
and my ears, now nearly bleeding
for all the sea of black
that sweeps before, hear
only darkness felt in shut-up shelter
the numbness of my shaking fingers
damns the progress of my search,
my longing for taste of bomb and fire,
of power--absent power--
that here
was
evidence enough of shells, of flames--
but testimony only,
no living fire,
is not enough to quench the
burning
desire of my sorting, ord'ring reason
in a shelter, how can I earnestly contend?
o cruel, smoldering season,
a hundred years of sifting, turning
over every stone--o sweet dilemma,
war gladly waged by my sire,
Ratio, he who, lonely,
finds naught but ruins for his lordly claims
here, in time, made other by my shelt'ring thus,
I am--and I am seer,
made thankful by Endower,
Other Sire,
Who also makes of shelter church,
and, still more, of ashes singers
and now in this I'm seen to welter:
knowing thought unclear--
I hope because I lack:
I hunger in my feeding:
alive despite bombs' crashes,
look I for bombs: I bow
- The scripture that inspired this poem: Jude 1:3.
