144,000 Thrones
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
My childhood little church, that concrete block
One painted white with ziggurat-like face,
Was filled with mystic preacher salesman talk
So glorious that in that tiny space
There glowed one hundred thousand thrones . . . and more.
Each one was larger than Mount Sinai.
That room was where Elijah’s wheels would soar
In flames. Each throne could grow to be as high
As Christ’s demanding Mount of Blessings made
To glisten with impossible gold thought.
Golgotha was each throne and each one weighed
As much as Heaven on its twelve-gemmed plot.
..There 50,000 prophets called down fire.
….White robes rose up on wheels of pure desire.
~ Phillip Whidden