The Hierophant

September 25, 2016 at 5:48 pm Leave a comment

 

 

 

The Hierophant

 

We’ve waited for hours

in this dusky, dusty place.

Anger and fear

are mixed in our breasts

as we wait on,

kneeling, heads bowed.  (Perhaps

the blindness

is hardest to bear.  I think

I’ve memorized

this cracked patch

of floor.)

 

Or perhaps

these hours

have been my life

as I wait

for meaning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The personal pronoun, unusually, is capitalized, but it seems fitting.  I generally don’t use it simply because English is the one and the only for many things, but I think most irritatingly for this; it capitalizes the personal pronoun.

Entry filed under: Ancient Poetry, definitions, social psychology, voices. Tags: , .

Family and 1 poem, ‘departures’ A Short Note

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