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New Day Birth

I have fought in the fortress of the saracens
I was cast in chains to drown
Into bottomless pool of the hidden
I have scorched my hands
On the molten cup of rage
And drunk it to its dregs
I have wrestled the balrog
In the depths of the abyss
I have screamed and clawed my face
In the torment of the lake of fire
And I stand before you to testify
That I see the New City
The Living God has delivered me
Into and out of these forsaken places
And as my head clears water
I can see the New Day
The purging has made it possible
I see a day when integrity is rewarded
I see the craftsman
With demand for his artful work
I hear humanity sing
The tribute of individuality, creativity and freedom
I see uniformitarian religious oppression
Exposed for the shameful child molester that it is
My spirit is bathed in the message of Christ
But the beauty of that revelation
Lies on the other side of war
First, I see Walmart and McDonald's in cinders
I smell the burnt flesh of the oppressors
Banking magnates, industry captains, corrupt politicians
I see the carcasses of the young
Slain by the foolishness of their fathers
Who sold the souls of their sons
For a quick and easy buck
This system will be obliterated
Babylon will drink no more blood from the creation
Then the true healer will be sought out and honored
The defender of the good
Will be set forth for all to follow
And his jailer's infamy
Will not be honored with spoken memory
Creativity will no longer endure
The petty traditions of unsanctified parenthood
Beauty will be acknowledged as proof of God's hand
And wickedness will no longer be loved
Depravity will be disdained and rejected
Every word will uplift
Every movement will liberate
Every note will inspire
The earth will be filled
With the creative handwork of possessed souls
Rivers of beauty, power, love and passion
Will flow from the lips, the pen, the instrument
From the hand, the hips, the womb, the eyes
The things of life
Will no longer be thought to be shameful
The gaping maw
Held open by the weight
Of the ever bottomless stomach
Will be clapped shut
By the golden fist of gratitude
And the glass jaw of of selfish pride
Will shatter like a thatched hut under a tsunami
I see hope, child
But I see terror first
Does the baby come
Without first the months of gestation
And then the final hours of blood
Of distortion and of pain?
Thus the New City will not be born quietly
And where will you be
On the first New Day?
Will you be a cell in the new born child
Powerful, living and vibrant?
Or will you be caught
On the wrong side of the placenta
Dead with the mother
Who could not survive so difficult a birth
Eternally aware that you chose it so
Because the passage through the narrow gate
Just seemed too hard
And none of your 'friends'
Would like it
If you tried to pull them
Through the birth canal behind you?


Stephen Pursell, 10/28/98






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