In The Beginning We Spoke of Original Love

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 " the children of the earth will be naked armament..."


The children are marching.
They have sprouted from the ground
mud glistening on their cheeks
their wings still wet
feathers plastered to their thighs

        Chris is shaken by an unseen hand
        as he spits and sputters sounds
        His mouth a bloody Babel 
        there is no meaning in his utterance
        there is no peace in his passion
        for this graceful man,
        there is no grace in his leaving.

The children are marching.
They are stepping with the bold
stride of the anointed and sure.
Palms splayed outward, the wind
whistles in their wounds.

        Ray lies still as a ghost 
        and his sister and lover hover 
        over his silent body urging him 
        to go.   "Go to the Light." 
        He has already started walking.

The children are marching.
Their voices sing a high sweet
song somewhat akin to keening.
As if they could keen in such bright air.
As if they could howl in sunlight.

        Robert lies blinded
        by a blizzard in his eyes
        He is smothered
        by an army in his chest.
        He will fight like a hero,
        his provisions will run out.

And the children are marching.
The sun is burning 
their faces 
turning brown like a common bean
They go barefoot
Feet flattening over the land of man
over the hand of God.

        Carla is slight as a whisper
        Light as a prayer 
        She calls for her daughters
        They cannot hear
        Her old dreams have sent them
        running in the tall grass
        Rolling in their lovers' arms.

And the children are marching
No one wonders where they are going.
Or where they have been.
They are clamoring for the guilty
They are calling for the saved
Their absence will be
a grateful departure.

        In the beginning, we spoke of original love;
        But now, we prepare for the new millennium.

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© 1998 Brenda Moossy