Devoted exclusively to the creative process. Here you will see photojournaling, poetry, prose, an occasional review--journaling or philosophical writing can be found on our other blogs. This is our attempt to use our imaginations. Enjoy!

Wednesday, November 23, 2005


With an alien people clutching their gods,
I should be glad of another death.

T.S. Eliot

I dreamed I was a pillar of sand,
tall and magnificant--what
soul lived in this dirty temple?
Once I walked with the dust,
shaking the earth from my feet.
I saw the light graze at the sky;
such heat begged for shelter.
My knees buckled and cried into silence.
Now I am dead; my body stinks.
What must I do to live again?
The dryness piled around me, rubbing against my heart.
I await the command: "Come forth, my child."
Soon I will feel the sand around me
turn into his clay.


velvetgunther said...

Here i am..this reminds me of Ozymandias, again..

Enemy of the Republic said...

My first comment--and what a compliment. Shelley is one of my all time favorite poets. Thanks, friend.


Silly me, I didn't know you wrote poetry too.

It reminds me of a temple, though even with dirty souls, and death, it has some sort of godliness attached to it, that calls out to you to protect it.