It’s another fiction Monday, focusing on poetry. I have been invited to present poetry at the University of Mary-Hardin Baylor’s Writer’s Festival in February, based on a few snippets of work I have completed in the past, so I’m now taking some time to draft a few new pieces to accompany my presentation. Here is another poem in progress, a new one this turn. I told one of my best friends once that I had never written anything explicitly religious, in the sense of a hymn or something of the like. I never felt good enough to; or, rather, that I had the proper talent to attempt such a splendid thing. Tonight it struck me to attempt otherwise, so I have. It’s not anything spectacular, but it’s what I have within me for right now.
all the lambs roar melodies
bound for the slaughterhouse, herded into the stalls,
bleating cries of the laboring mothers bearing forth their young,
a cry goes out from the depths, a cry breaks into the sky,
a cry comes to the throne of God, the lambs cry against the call to die;
arrested by a spectacle, a kind of holy mystery,
captivating signs of the coming Deliverer bearing o’er His shoulders the young,
a song goes out from the loosed, a song caresses the mountainside,
a song comes to the throne of God, the lambs sing the call to die;
immobile in the desert, abandoned to their lot,
atoning wandering of hardened sheep growing old in the fraught of twilight,
a moan goes out from the elders, a moan beats against the dust,
a moan comes to the throne of God, the lambs moan for the call to die;
promised something eternal, a thing most obscure,
carrying a kind of whisper of a coming glory bound upon their foreheads,
a shout goes out from the staggerers, a shout goes out in vain,
a shout comes to the throne of God, the lambs shout “violence!” upon the call to die;
a time of silence from the throne of God … a time of silence from the lambs;
revealed a wonder, beheld by few in their prime,
beholding most merciful movement of redemption and fullness of time,
a voice goes out from the wilderness, a voice tickles fertile ears,
a voice comes to the womb, the lambs voice a call to die;
unsure in action, compelled to satisfy a cruel desire,
raising up the only true lamb among them, striped for mercy, scourged by pride,
a plea goes out from the innocent, a plea covers the strayed,
a plea comes to the throne of God, the lamb pleas “forgive!” the call to die;
raised in might, clothed in the immortal splendor,
calling forth the bound and lame unto His eternal radiance and rest,
a hush goes out from the witnesses, a hush falls upon the world,
a hush comes to the throne of God, the lamb hushed the call to die;
traveling now, fields ripe with harvest and fertile to plant,
following their singing leader through the rising valleys and o’er the flattening hills,
a roar goes out from the ransomed, a roar calls wildflowers to come into bloom,
a roar comes to the throne of God, all the lambs roar melodies, ne’er more to die.
© 2011, Preston. All rights reserved.
