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Thread: God rest ye Mary gentle

  1. #1

    God rest ye Mary gentle


    *




    He

    does not Speak.

    He

    does not speak. He does. Not. nor even if did could be Heard above the noise of crowds not

    speak

    nor even whisper nor faintest cries in deep frosted hours of night nor morning.

    Quiet

    mind quiet dreams ; questions asked, unanswered, naught but silence fills the hours. always most

    troubling

    His absence now and Yesterday and week, no month, no time and again before this moment

    search

    sparkling sky of false Stars on swagged strings and find only

    sounds

    of revelry roaring up in cheers and song from passerby and organized group a like.

    Crunch.

    Crunch. Snow swirls and dance. Ahead, behind. Seeking ground. Seeking place to rest, holy

    virgin

    snow on rooftops no room in the inn. Celebration of the Birth, approaching. Whisper wind

    vainly

    seeks wise men ears, directions, Directions


    None




    Soul

    lament internal now— not His—

    Silence.

    Noise. Silence. What to do , with Silence.

    Angels

    we have heard on high fill instead in market Square. Jostle chorus unrehearsed, small booke of

    song

    suggest up words; for dozen matching scarf stop few.

    Silent

    Night, Holy Night

    O

    Holy Father I hear of Thee

    but

    hear not from Thee

    nor

    see Thee

    but

    for in beauty of Creation

    itself.





    Possess

    , posses. Signs and banners proclaime And men women tiny toddles in tiny shoes bustle to heed

    call

    so strong such calls packs carried full to brim heavy weight with Greed. Bundled coats brave cold

    possess

    possess possess. And why not possess Think they where abundance clearly reign. Steal triumph

    selfish

    when two wish for item one No serving nor love of neighbor Feet trampled ; not washed.

    Deck

    the halls boughs Idolatry. Idolatry. All abundance idolatry. Find not Him in midst pagan

    pageantry. Graven

    image to each compass point, sun rise and set to misdirect. Nature once to serve god

    offer

    nourishment to Servants ,guiding star to swaddled manger snatched from heavens anointing not

    Princely

    babe but fir.

    Forgive

    them Father they know not what they do. Forgave already have must, must, peace on earth

    good

    will to Men. Peace, stillness. Silence now even betray no softest tears.

    Needled

    branches , pricking tree, softer thorns, sap drip like past future blood on Calvary they sell in

    small

    patch lots with tented merchants Or in windows of large buildings of imposing faces covered with

    false

    froste , adorn in ice crystal They say they boast Swarofvssi and beam proud to trees, so

    proud

    of trees, trees to be gotten in all places and to any place can be brought. Trees to be wrapped

    with

    tiny glass candles, stars on strings always strings, not yarn but something like so

    many

    in these trees and other baubles blown of glass and material do know not what. At first so pretty,

    but

    so many, everywhere. no Room for quiet, no room for Him. In all spaces, only trees, trees.

    And

    Boxes. And Boughs. And Bows.

    False

    stars flicker but do not extinguish. Colored clear. False, as Lucifer. in Eden. Fallen Lucifer in Eden

    tempting

    to Eve with promise knowing between good and evil, yet here

    Where

    now the voice that weeps?

    Good

    and evil, evil becomes good, they are images of the same, flushed face and happy friend but

    hearts

    eaten away, moth-eaten by good -evil , evil good ,sin,- become beauty and light become dark.

    much

    light, all around such light and bright but driving further, further from Him to darkest night.

    patterne

    stars dotted stars tree stars

    stars

    illuminate wares, wares of all kinds, man and man in markets wares, some baubles some not -

    Know

    some, many others so strange so new, never seen in all travels and life,

    Chocolates,

    pretty mamselle? Hand-crafted, you see.


    Choc-cholettes?

    Tiny child near partake, and exclaime- Ah, there, see see, sweets. No, no no, unright, it

    Still

    the hour of fasting, Advent not yet the Nativity, not now, no , indulginses later, not yet.

    But

    so many food all around, so many smells Temptations designed for man’s great weakness of body ,

    Fragrance

    wearing on soul resolve,

    Apple.

    Spice. Bread. Sweets. Cheese.

    Sleigh

    bells ring, are you listening?
    I am listening, I seek Thee still. But where.

    Not

    yet the Nativity. Not yet, not yet.

    Gorge.



    Wrong.



    Bow

    head. Fold hands. Has not this world gone asunder? Kingdom come thy will be done

    on

    Earth as it is



    Silence





    Coin.

    Coin passes. Coin passes hand to. Hand. All around community is naught but coin and where coin

    lives

    in pocket to hand to hand to purse between. This man, that woman, some coin, some small

    agreeing

    pass presentment stiff small card. Give, buy, take. Merry face, yes, merry soul—do not No.

    ring

    a ling a ling ting a ling coins bells bells for coin for bells for trinket.

    Not

    gift of heart but gift of thing. Mother, father, friend; sack in hand. Paper money paper bonds paper

    bags

    hold tightly; gift, ribbon, string.

    Seen

    againe the glutton man of red, beard of whitest white. Againe, still—still, againe? Another,

    another,

    another. All the same, all differing. Actors without stage, spilling over in robe and girth of

    excess.

    Boom, Laugh- Ho Ho Holly jolly comes just once a year. Disciples green. Crowds to see, Crowds

    around

    , crowd around Suffer the little children come unto-

    Soft

    hand on arm of nearby mother. No, do not. Madame. Do not.
    But she look upon then away and

    hustle

    faster to the man they say He sees you when you’re sleeping He knows when you’re awake This

    man

    of claws and push push, go child.

    No,

    little one. Only God sees.


    Plea

    is lost.

    Mistletoe!

    Young man just there, grins he, puckered lips and motion to sprig. Green leaf red ribbon hang

    in

    hand twixt thumb, index, white berry ball contrast

    Irreverent

    lad, hand swat hastily away, to think it, how could- no, not this nor other maiden, offer freely

    lips

    formed for prayer. Yet girlish giggle from gaggle behind, chitter chatter shiver in cold and delight.

    Blush

    on face though all wave ‘way, coy and coquettes they,



    unseemly

    and unchaste,


    he.





    Lost

    childe. Lost souls.

    They’re

    taking Christ from Christmas, you know. to left Fine Lady points. A sign in shop. ‘X-Mas’, see.

    Christ.

    From Christmas. Gone.


    Lost.




    Was

    this Paris? Is this France?

    wrong

    wrong

    wrong


    wrong






    His

    Country, won for Him, holy war to put home heaven aright but They had disappeared Him still into

    pathways

    of twinkled lights and boxes in beribboned paper adored with trees and foils and candies.

    They

    have Disappeared him He is Gone He is Silent. And silence perhaps they deserved for They

    sought

    not further in quiet but increased in noises of all types, distraction of all shape and color and

    speed.

    Wheels that spin and bells that do not cease and devices that gaily congratulate men of snow for

    Witchcrafts.

    They have transgressed against the Lord our God and are left to damning revelry awaiting

    the

    desert as Israelites awaiting , abandon thought of Moses. Yes silence was Theirs to earn and keep,

    but

    mine, why also mine?

    How

    also this Silence brought down upon this head?

    as

    with Job, am I also?

    Am

    again in a cell, a cell .erected in Godlessness. Cell, this time, dignity lacking, solemn reflection lost.

    Gilded

    cell with veneer of cheer kept warm with bags, bags of things of toys of food of plenty, JOY to the

    WORLD

    but for those needing while in corners, off hidden or plain sight unseen, poor and pious shiver in

    cold

    nights, forgotten as the babe in straw and manger. A cell destroying Light with light that would not

    cease

    but was not Holy. Cold. Outside, inside, outside-in. Watch breath bloom in puffs ahead; froste,

    also,

    from within.

    dost

    Thou not lament?

    As

    Issac now bound stone and rope As Ruth go unto Boaz, Hold fast to The Word .

    Constant

    is The Word ; It is the Divine. To Adam, To Abraham, to Joseph, to Mary Chosen see

    Him

    first. Counsel for the Lost. He does not Forsake; The Word provides the way. Fortify in

    times

    of doubt and pain for the LORD Thy God is with thee. Remember it now Come to thought say Paul-

    “To

    the pure, all things are pure; but to those who are defiled and unbelieving, nothing is pure, but both

    their

    mind and their conscience are defiled."


    Instructed,

    we, lean not.

    Perhaps

    not They but I am lost.

    Angel’s

    chorus. Follow. Seek out our new-born king to see pahrumpahpumpum follow as did

    shepherds

    on the hill kneel to Him O Holy Shepherd all the sheep have gone astray do you hear me

    O

    King of Kings
    hollowed Church bells dimly echo O holy nite, the starres are too brightly shining.


    Candles.

    flicker




    glow





    burn





    which

    of us shall Burn?



    silence





    Ice

    step stumble forward Cushioned, knee on snow. Up, through panelled doors of oak.

    Cathedral.

    Spires exalting towards the Maker filt’red rainbows dance in candle-light. Consecrated

    ground

    upon which to stand, petition mercy mild - upon whose soul, unsure. Father in Heaven. Soon.


    Walk

    slow, just so. Past pew to pew down gentle foot falls to craftman color tile way. Silver bells herald

    twelve.



    Nativity.

    There. Blessed Virgin, Sweetest Childe.





    Kneel,

    palms up, beseeching.







    *









    [is christmas in july still a thing?]
    a compass by which to get lost

    a collection of facts and amusements




    14:55 Elyhime: I rolled some garbage

    04:59 AndroUser2: On one hand
    04:59 AndroUser2: Vlows a total savage
    04:59 AndroUser2: But she's lsokinda based
    04:59 AndroUser2: Shame she's msffrir

    Quote Originally Posted by Lace View Post
    you can choose to instead be emotionally constipated I guess
    Quote Originally Posted by Lace View Post
    when a random guy hits on you you can just brush him off

    when a random guy hits on you and he has an aussie accent, that's the devil's temptation
    Quote Originally Posted by Lace View Post
    god everytime I open your signature my lifespan is shortened by 3 years
    Quote Originally Posted by Lace View Post
    and no disrespect who the fuck is glow




  2. #2
    Discord: Beamu#1574 just Beamu's Avatar
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    This had a very good flow to it that I really enjoyed. This isn't usually my kind of fic but I liked this one quite a bit. Good job.

  3. #3
    kookaburra screams in the distance Dullahan's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by T. W. Adorno, Minima Moralia, 1951.
    Human beings are forgetting how to give gifts. Violations of the exchange-principle have something mad and unbelievable about them; here and there even children size up the gift-giver mistrustfully, as if the gift were only a trick, to sell them a brush or soap. For that, one doles out charity [in English in original], administered well-being, which papers over the visible wounds of society in coordinated fashion. In its organized bustle, the human impulse no longer has any room, indeed even donations to the needy are necessarily connected with the humiliation of delivery, the correct measure, in short through the treatment of the recipient as an object. Even private gift-giving has degenerated into a social function, which one carries out with a reluctant will, with tight control over the pocketbook, a skeptical evaluation of the other and with the most minimal effort. Real gift-giving had its happiness in imagining the happiness of the receiver. It meant choosing, spending time, going out of one’s way, thinking of the other as a subject: the opposite of forgetfulness. Hardly anyone is still capable of this. In the best of cases, they give what they themselves would have wished for, only a few shades of nuance worse. The decline of gift-giving is mirrored in the embarrassing invention of gift articles, which are based on the fact that one no longer knows what one should give, because one no longer really wants to. These goods are as relationless as their purchasers. They were shelf warmers [Ladenhueter] from the first day. Likewise with the right to exchange the gift, which signifies to the receiver: here’s your stuff, do what you want with it, if you don’t like it, I don’t care, get something else if you want. In contrast to the embarrassment of the usual gifts, their pure fungibility still represents something which is more humane, because they at least permit the receiver to give themselves something, which is to be sure simultaneously in absolute contradiction to the gift.


    In relation of the greater abundance of goods, which are available even to the poor, the decline of gift-giving may appear unimportant, and considerations on such as sentimental. However, even if it became superfluous in a condition of superfluity – and this is a lie, privately as well as socially, for there is no-one today whose imagination could not find exactly what would make them thoroughly happy – those who no longer gave would still be in need of gift-giving. In them wither away those irreplaceable capacities which cannot bloom in the isolated cell of pure interiority, but only in contact with the warmth of things. Coldness envelops everything which they do, the friendly word which remains unspoken, the consideration which remains unpracticed. Such iciness recoils back on those from which it spread. All relations which are not distorted, indeed perhaps what is reconciliatory in organic life itself, is a gift. Those who become incapable of this through the logic of stringency [Konsequenz: consequence, corollary], make themselves into things and freeze.
    emphasis added

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