The Missionary


The skeptic, exiled early to a Willow tree.

And now silver scales are held aloft,

a lopsided trophy, sinking under dark art and muddy-bellied fear.

Trembling psalms are heavy on liver and shoulders.

He is crumpled under stone, glazed in grave confusion,

dictating, amplifying, distance between,

blood                      and                    light.

His shackles are tight, delivering pain without a (question) mark.

Projection is a bullet to receptive cells and feathers fall softly on sad feet.

The mission: vulgar uncertainty, banshee panic, whiskey driven noise.

Flesh is his generator, he see’s only dirty fingers, blind to the sky.

20 thoughts on “The Missionary”

    1. yes…it has made me look deeper at the way we judge etc…the little missionary inside us….thinking it knows better….wanting to help …but why and where does it come from …and is it a clean judgement …unlikely..


  1. This really is a poem that gets under the skin in a good way. It really shows duality in that all motivations can be questioned. I really love the closing line, because it seems to show someone looking down at something one way and with singular purpose, and not looking up at the sky’s endless possibiities.


  2. This is a stunning piece…one that speaks to my heart dear. I believe if we have vanquished evil once…we are forever able to, especially if we took the counter position…life never death, love never hate, and opening to all found worthy…you are a deep soul lovely silver. xo


    1. Thankyou. Yes ultimately there is one choice, to believe in the flesh or to believe in everything else…the beauty of this world is that we get the choice at all and when we make it the rewards are clear! I think there is a sweet balance to be struck where we can live within the story yet at the same time not give it the credit of ‘reality’ even though it feels so real…. its an interesting one… a question…an all important question…


  3. the missionary is cursed by the calling, the weight to be carried needs superhuman strength, I felt like that last line to be really sad: “blind to the sky” because that’s where the inspiration is supposed to come from, but he’s blind to it.


    1. I know…me too, it is a sad line…. and while the focus is on how ‘dirty’ things are and how much they need to change, he won’t be satisfied…
      It is a question too, ‘who’s orders is he carrying through, his flesh father or his divine father…are they one and the same for him without the clarity the skeptic provides through questioning…he may never know…


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