A Poetic Assault on Religion
I know this isn't the typical type of post, but I have a point, I swear.
I wrote this today, and I felt the need to share it. It highlights the dangers of belief [as many claims I have heard define it as something harmless and personal] among other things. I think it's pretty to the point:
I
“Are you real?” I asked her,
And she laughed,
“Does it matter?”
II
I woke up and found a Bible in my bed
L e a k i n g blood,
Some crusted and some
Fresh.
My trembling fingertips hug my sides; I’m convulsing. I
Thought that I
Was the one who was
Bleeding.
There’s that story
About that wife
Who disobeyed
Was turned to salt
Just for looking back.
Well,
My opened eyes are
l e a k i n g salt,
Just for
Looking.
III
I woke up and saw an angel above my bed.
“Are you real?” I asked her,
And she laughed,
“Does it matter?”
II
I woke up swathed in crimson covers,
Convulsing,
Cold,
Kicking
Underneath
My navel,
And in the distance I
Heard a baby cry –
But the distance consisted of my
Ignorance, because
The cry was the intertwining of
His and mine –
A convulsing
Cold
Kicking
Christ.
My rapist was covered in red on the bedside table,
His pages and folds mocking
The folds of my own
From which he stole my virginity.
“Thou shalt not kill?” I begged
In the tone of
“Why?”
And his binding trembling
As he chuckled,
“Thou.”
I
“Are you real?” I asked her,
And she winked,
“So long as you think I am.”
But, I digress.
Does anyone know of any creative atheist literature? Something that isn't nonfiction but has an atheist agenda? If there isn't, there should be.
I wrote this today, and I felt the need to share it. It highlights the dangers of belief [as many claims I have heard define it as something harmless and personal] among other things. I think it's pretty to the point:
I
“Are you real?” I asked her,
And she laughed,
“Does it matter?”
II
I woke up and found a Bible in my bed
L e a k i n g blood,
Some crusted and some
Fresh.
My trembling fingertips hug my sides; I’m convulsing. I
Thought that I
Was the one who was
Bleeding.
There’s that story
About that wife
Who disobeyed
Was turned to salt
Just for looking back.
Well,
My opened eyes are
l e a k i n g salt,
Just for
Looking.
III
I woke up and saw an angel above my bed.
“Are you real?” I asked her,
And she laughed,
“Does it matter?”
II
I woke up swathed in crimson covers,
Convulsing,
Cold,
Kicking
Underneath
My navel,
And in the distance I
Heard a baby cry –
But the distance consisted of my
Ignorance, because
The cry was the intertwining of
His and mine –
A convulsing
Cold
Kicking
Christ.
My rapist was covered in red on the bedside table,
His pages and folds mocking
The folds of my own
From which he stole my virginity.
“Thou shalt not kill?” I begged
In the tone of
“Why?”
And his binding trembling
As he chuckled,
“Thou.”
I
“Are you real?” I asked her,
And she winked,
“So long as you think I am.”
But, I digress.
Does anyone know of any creative atheist literature? Something that isn't nonfiction but has an atheist agenda? If there isn't, there should be.
Tags: angel, bible, creative, fiction, hypocrisy, literature, poetry, reality, violence
Replies to This Discussion
-
Permalink Reply by Amy Victoria on -
What! That was fabulous. I'm inclined to like mention of grimmer topics like self-harm, but indeed, the role of religion of society is paradoxically grim within itself, so I find it quite appropriate. I like how the usage of the term 'godly' fades as the poem progresses; it connotes that shift towards humanism. I think the best comparison made was to consider those 'proper' people 'fractions.'
I liked it. I dunno what you're talking about, but I understand - I'm much more critical on my own work than everyone else =]
-
Permalink Reply by Kris Feenstra on -
Heh, it's not clear from the way I posted, but 'disaster' was referring mostly to the process of trying to write a poem in one go (if I had given myself time to revise or edit, I probably would have decided not to post it). If it's prose I can hit a rhythm, but trying to write a poem, especially as a dilettante, is hard on my wiring somehow.
That's why I have a lot of respect for poets. How does the Oscar Wilde quote go? Something like ' I was proofing one of my poems all morning, and I took out a comma. That afternoon I put it back in.'
Glad you liked the poem though.
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