Desecration

[Pendragon]

Desecration

The pure, white stone of the temple
belied its age,
for it held within the polished marble halls
the wisdom of the Ancients.
The young man whose duty it was
to guard the tabernacle of the deity
Grey Matter,
performed his task with a learning
far beyond his years,
seeing to it that only the most desirable sacrifices
were burned on the Altar of Knowledge,
to send up a sweet-smelling incense
to the demi-god’s throne.
Then one fateful day a shining daemon appeared,
sweeping down dragon-like upon the hallowed halls,
spreading flame and destruction that scarred forever
the bleached stone of the temple.
It toppled the image of the god Grey Matter,
smashing it into ruin.
And, in one final blow,
It sacrificed the caretaker upon the altar.
Ripping his heart from his breast,
it wrote in blood its own name upon the white wall:
MADNESS—

Pendragon
© 11/24/95

[PrinceMyshkin]

Spooky! At the end, that is, but of course the sober, stately progression of the lines before the final one, the seemingly calm, dispassionate observation of all that leads up to that final desecration is what contributes so effectively to the horror of the ending.

[Pendragon]

Appreciate that. That one took some time to write. :)

[AdrianLeverkuhn]

As I was reading this I wasn't sure if I liked it or not until I made it to the end. That very last word in caps-lock won me over. Well done.

[qimissung]

I like it; love the metaphor. This is well-done, Pendragon. And for those who struggle with real mental-health issues, this is probably what it feels like. My son has a friend whose mother is bi-polar, and she is upbeat, but it has had a definite effect on the quality of her life.

[AuntShecky]

More and more I see examples of what Eliot meant when he said that poetry is an escape or a "running away" from emotion.

Methinks that once troublesome feelings are put down on paper, they become less amorphous and more concrete, especially when they are translated into a form consisting of specific, discernible images. That's why verse that's written as "therapy" isn't as worthwhile as the kind that frees itself from pure subjectivity. Your piece is of the latter category,Pen. Otherwise only you would know what you mean, and of all of these readers wouldn't have been able to respond as positively as we have.

Being able to separate float-y abstract "feelings" and the stuff that makes a poem comes from practice. And you've proven again and again that
you know the difference between the two. I am one reader who can truly appreciate this, on both
a personal and a literary level.

So, keep the faith and keep up the good work.
I hope we can read even more of your pieces.