Speak to the Dust

I haven’t written anything but poetry in a while. BUt, I figured I may as well keep active. Here’s something new.

Faceless nuances slip through my fingers like lost love from times forgotten
I miss the taste of your bleeding lips
Dripping with grace upon mine,
silent like the prayers of our fathers
Blessed with sacred recognition,
And a nostalgic longing

Have you forgotten our sacred covenant?
You wander the wastelands now, staring at the broken clocks
Hoping for a shadow of tomorrow’s forgotten future
You breathe the fumes of your own decay now,
You are the forgotten prophet, I am the broken saint

Speak to the dust,
Tell it your long lost secrets,
Speak to the earth, beckon the waters out of dry places
Use your tongue mighty prophet
Speak to the dust

As your weary hands dried and faltering, empty themselves of power
Have you surrendered to the dunes?
Call forth to the age old dust, sundering the earth from sky,
Speak to the red tongues of lightning tearing across the expanse,
Take your hands, broken one, and remind yourself to pray,
Speak to the dust

The desert is waiting, the greatest war is that one which dwells within
Fall to your knees,
Remind yourself of the scents of our love,
Do you remember the garden?
Or have you forgotten my field of lilies draped in dreams?
Redeem yourself

Where once was light and ecstasy at the sound of your voice is chaos,
Have you forgotten our union that used to spark lightning between us,
the electric channels spark like living currents, echoing
You forgot our wild dances, you are anathema
Leave behind your once mighty power
Bleed it out upon your former throne
And when the ages close in upon you
Speak,
To the dust
Thanks for tuning in.
Eli

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2 thoughts on “Speak to the Dust

  1. “Silent like the prayers of our fathers” – interesting. Why “silent”? And who are “our fathers”?

  2. Silent because those who have gone before have passed away, sometimes forgotten. Our fathers are all those who have truly known God. They are silent with reverence, with awe, with recognition of something beyond themselves. Our fathers, those who have joined the cloud of witnesses, they are ever in awe, and the grace that passes between is something that deserves that same silence.

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