Monks

The Anatomy of a Monk



Oh do you never yield?
You strut and stare
And penetrate me, hanging there
With your gaze.
But none of us would fondle air
As kindly as we say:
Drops of rain from fathoms high
Would rot the wood of the alter
Were it not for the spires and peaks
Pricking deep into the sky -
Diverting their attention.
'O glorius, glorius, wonderful God
Forgive me for I have sinned!'
(Not a chance - nor should I pose the thought)
For no matter how far he delves into me
He'll not know how it is to crawl distraught
To where heaven will not know
What lies between the very seams of my robe:
The difference between black, and black.

nice, if not weird.

ha ha. Thanks. Anyone else write? I know it's kind of irrelevant but always a good break from the hardcore guitar work...

i write, but in a less defined sense than your 'monk' poem (which by the way, was a very nice mystical type one).

I've only written 4 songs so far (im 14), but i've worked them out quite a bit, and i like how they are.