Seething Passion

Seething Passion  ||  Purest felt
Hearts can mend  ||  Souls may melt
Essence of  ||  Angelic grace
Vicious Violence  ||  Darkness laced
Desperate Need  ||  Ascending Lust
Reigning Ash  ||  return to dust
Fluttered nerves  ||  Reddened blush
Acid burn  ||  and somber hush
Passion's trails  ||  clinging smoke
Shivered fear  ||  Desire woke
Shouted bark  || or whispered plea
Longing floats  ||  in Ether Sea
Joy and suff'ring  ||  never tame
Bound as one  ||  in Passion's flame

[Painting: "Venus, supported by Iris, complaining to Mars" by George Hayter. c 1820]

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"The first form is darkness, the second desire, the third ignorance, the fourth is the excitement of death, the fifth is the kingdom of the flesh, the sixth is the foolish wisdom of flesh, the seventh is the wrathful wisdom. These are the seven powers of wrath."
~from The Gospel According to Mary Magdalene

Why does the Lamb's Blood Shimmer?
How does that make the Garden Grow?
Why does the Light get Dimmer?
These are the things that I MUST KNOW!!!
~Dominic Savio

("The place of the Skull")


Dirt Everywhere.
Dirt in the mouth, the eyes, the hair, the clothes.
Never to be clean again.

Stench Everywhere.
Unwashed flesh, manure and Fear.
And Hope.
Fear smells sharp, like steel.
Hope smells soft, like the finest fabric.

Sound Everywhere.
Voices, muted, but never silenced.
Lows and brays and grunts and neighs, and
The sound of footsteps.
Thousands of footsteps.

Can block out the voices.

Can ignore the stench.
Can even get used to the dirt.
The footsteps are never-ending.
The ground shakes. The head pounds.
The sound, like nails hammering into wood.

Nearing the city
40,000 strong.
Thousands more lining the gates.
The path.
Our path.
Waving those branches, like a coronation.

The city is alive.
It feels alive.
The city cries, it begs.
The city Fears.
It Hopes.

Four more days.
Cannot think about that now.
Must smile.
Must own their Fear.
Must bring them Hope.
Must be their Hope.

Four more days.