the non-witness
You had always known it in your head. There you had built a room: the Nativity in the corner. Your parents framed at the door. In its center: a baby’s cradle. You looked through your nose. You just don’t get it. You didn’t see the Altar locked in the closet.
You sat down across from a man wrapped in Muslim. You wear a garb that was handed to you. He asked you where you received your faith.
Shit.
You had always known it in your head. There you had built a room: the Nativity in the corner. Your parents framed at the door. In its center: a baby’s cradle.
But you forgot the Altar locked in the closet.
the divorce
You had always held it in your hand. The cross you wielded like a sword, murderously struck down those who differed. You just don’t get it. You didn’t like that. You’d rather be rid of it.
The cross would be rid of it too, that kind of sword. You locked it in the closet to be forgotten. It patiently awaits the day you take it up and plunge it into your chest, so that it may finally rest where it belongs. Then, you can bleed.
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Author:
PotbellyPleb (
Offline) - Published: February 28th, 2020 12:42
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem is a very personal one about my brother. My siblings and I were raised in the Christian faith, but as my brother got older, he grew more reserved. He moved out, and despite living in the same city, our relationship with him felt stretched over a long distance. He was too busy to come to church with us. It never occurred to me that he could have been steadily drifting from Christianity. I think it was because he was so reserved. It's interesting how it's so easy to translate silence to contentedness, when it really could signify a disconnect. Recently, he said that he had developed a mindset of superiority over other religions, and he didn't like that. I can understand, because I also think that superiority should go, but I also believe that superiority is not the heart of Christianity. I won't go into fine detail, but this poem is me trying to visualize the process of how my brother distanced himself from the faith and became an Atheist. This poem is both my attempt at understanding and crying out to my brother.
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Comments3
I'm not sure who is the most confused here, you or your readers.
I appreciate the feedback. May I ask if it comes from a poet or someone who disagrees with my point of view? I would just like to clarify that I don't mean this poem to be a sermon or an attack on anyone's beliefs. I am merely writing from where I'm at. I could try to filter all of my thoughts and beliefs for the sake of my audience, however, I don't think that is what poetry is about. That aside, if there is something about my writing style or use of imagery that is confusing for the audience, I would openly accept feedback on that.
Read some of the work i publish here on MPS and answer for yourself whether i am a poet or not.
1 more comment
Potbelly rather than send me huge private messages attempting to tell me what some old man insists is how poetry is written may I suggest the following.
1) Make such communications readable rather than the confused skipping match you presented.
2) Keep your comments for the comments section (here)
3) Don't try to teach me in private what is and is not poetry. If you have a criticism or comments upon my work then use the comments section provided.
4) Learn to take criticism. Here your piece has been commented upon by a few poets who publish on MPS. All seem to be making the same points. I assume that you are not so thick headed as to ignore these.
5) Poetry as a facet of language and literature is a fluid and ever changing thing. What somebody in your past considers to be correct is a thing of the past. MPS is a thing of today. Byron and Keats, though each have their beauty, are in the past. MPS is of today.
Atheism is only common sense.
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