FROM THE VAULT—POETRY FROM 10TH GRADE

Writing

In tenth grade I broke the bonds of rhyme. I still want to edit the hell out of it, but I kinda like this one.

TRIPTYCH: ARMAGEDDON

1

standing on the broken summit of the hilltop

surrounded by his disciples

the mad prophet rants

feet planted in hellfire

head spinning in a fever dream

hecklers come to laugh

at the crazy eyed fool

in the death-dusted robe and the halo of pity

who is overstepping set bounds

scorn for a man who does not know the limit

the sky shatters

opening great cracks and rends in the clouds

that slowly leak in the night

the tension builds to a crescendo

disciples chanting at the insane stars

the hecklers inching back from the frenzy

the mad prophet opens his eyes

hear me

he screams at a world

that for him is coming apart at the seams

hear me

he shouts at the lost sheep

that cower about him

i am god!

a tear opens in the sky

allows passage for a searing lance

a moment later the acrid stench and the rumbling echo

the crowd slowly disperses

no praise for a pile of smoldering ash

2

now there are more

and the light in their eyes is a secret shade of madness

the hecklers scoff from hidden places

hesitant

not sure if the limits matter any more

afraid that the boundries have been forgotten

in place of the death-dusted robe

a legion of uniforms

gold buttons and blood-stained medals

the halo of pity has been thrown to the wolves

and the odds have been evened

a thousand turrets

and shafts and gleaming barrels

that catch and splinter the sun

banks and rows and bunkers and stockpiles

all poised and pointed bristling at the sky

that say

more eloquently than words

we are god!

fingers poised over buttons

punch down in save haste

all the sounds of destruction fill the air

the machineries of war

tangible grinding against intangible

the oceans shaking in their rocky basins

the hot lands coming apart

the golden gates of the kingdom crashing down

and the walls of heaven falling away

and nothing left in either place

3

a frail earthworm struggles up

through ash and rubble

and decaying layers of the past

it breaks through to the surface

stretching to full height against the pale red sky

looking about with sudden comprehension

saying in a slow, brittle voice

i am god?

there is no one left to refute it

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