by Pavel Chichikov
I saw Jeremiah at the temple wall
Building stone by stone
A one that would not fall
'Better than the blocks that stood –
New are the stones, the mortar
Is of congealed blood,'
The prophet Jeremiah said –
'And those who use the plumb and line,
The chisel, are the risen dead
'All that we have said and done
Mistaken, wrong and stubborn
Self indulgent, is undone
'Now we have un-errored error,
Purified – obliterated
Tophet, Moloch, death and terror'
Then he held a block aloft
Scraped the clotted blood –
'It comes from when I cough
'My own lung's blood, the whitest stone,
Lime from the bones of honest men –
Stock-still is the sun
'So that we have eternity
Or nearly so to raise the walls
And yet the project keeps on till infinity
'Each time I set a stone in place
Another falls – there seems to be
A curse weighed down upon this place
'That will not let the building rise
Though I'd make shovels of my shoulder bones,
Windows of my eyes'
It is no curse that makes it fall
I said, it is your own
Sacrifice of what is not eternal
Build with the soul – but what is that
And where obtained?
Let go the walls, and it remains
Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may also visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.