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Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem 

       

He sings, a member in the burning rungs

Of seraphim stacked high around the throne

Of passion.  Fizzing, flaming, praise-filled lungs

Exclaim their adoration.  They have flown

In from the realms of curled black hair on love,

Upon its being, on its body parts,

And hanging from its head held high above

Two separated, chested, bone-clasped hearts.

The flares of adulation flash out fire.

Reception fails.  The jamming comes from God

Himself built into crippled male desire.

Christ orders crumpling from his firing squad.

  The sought cannot be found by passion when

    Flesh lies unfit in lionesses’ den.

~ Phillip Whidden

by phillipw | Aug 23, 2024 | CH, RO, ST, Uncategorized | 0 comments