Black Poetry : Ancient Clothes

WindWalker

Well-Known Member
REGISTERED MEMBER
Oct 8, 2001
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Ancient Clothes


A fire has raged through the village;
left nothing in its wake:
I find myself on the road, dazed,
naked and ashamed, thinking:
the Church will certainly condemn me
for I am naked!
Desperately I search for something
to cover my nakedness, but nothing.
Of the ancient clothes I had so proudly worn
none had survived the flames.

Then I looked around and saw
the Church too had crumbled to the ground,
so boldly I strode through the devastation
and others followed suit:
they shed their old, ragged, dirty clothes.

And thus freed, we came to realize
we were no longer ashamed of our bodies
for they were the only real clothes
we were meant to wear in love of life.

And thus freed, we came to understand
that clothing had been forced on us
to hide imputed sin by frustrated gods
who resented our innocence;
who hated our love of life
who cursed us and doomed us to die
in the beginning.

Hah! How fondly they had hoped
We would never remember those days –
but we are remembering;
we are awakening.
 

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