Kyrie Eleison - Poem by Denise Antoni
The bay flames, a brazen chalice.
Come and haul from its wine-dark words
All the Old World's boasting promise,
The vintage, pearly, twilit hoards.
Coins cupped in a spongy hammock,
Sea-blacked fingers clutching the cross.
Touching the salt-smoked wreck
The ribcage swirls away to dust.
Those great ships split like oysters
As scrap-feathered gulls shriek their prey,
Treasured names that choked old sailors -
Benedictus, Santa Maria, Miserere.
We do not heed the sky's cold blood,
The sea's inflamed chalice,
The bay's hot rise on time's red flood.
For our plundered, plastic, gilt-edged creeds,
For this new world's foiled and empty promise,
For our squandered, twisted, bankrupt deeds,
Have mercy on us.
Comments about Kyrie Eleison by Denise Antoni
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.