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literature
Blasphemy
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Literature Text
How could I ever say "this is what I want in a woman"?
Every cell in your body or thought inside your mind, every single colour of your soul or dream inside your hand – I'm just a mortal trying to dream the Universe tonight.
Oh, sweet blasphemy. What greater power created this world, what infinite wisdom conspired, to close the gates of night at dawn and open them wide tomorrow?
I'm just a fool, and though I believe in magic, I still feel the edge of my soul, still know I could never have done it.
How could a God create your body, unless he was your lover? And for your soul he had to cry. He had to laugh out loud to shape your smile and to give up his wings to make you fly.
She had to be a mother so she could make your heart, hide all emotion in your eyes, and yield the strength you have inside.
And then she must have died to make you mortal, he must have died to send you down to earth, she must have died again each time we've hurt you and he again each time we've touched.
Perhaps all men ought to fill the halls of hell, for all the wrongs we're doing while alive, walking through a corrupted Eden and holding down angels by their hands.
Heaven is right here, beside you. And I don't care what they say.
If it's a sin in the eyes of God to want you, then they ought to make room for me in the fire, though I'll be aflame all my life.
But if by His or Her grace you're here for a moment, a blink when time's eye sheds a tear, if death is the price that I pay to hold you and my only sin be not to love you, then know it's my honour to pay it and know that I'll die like a child.
Every cell in your body or thought inside your mind, every single colour of your soul or dream inside your hand – I'm just a mortal trying to dream the Universe tonight.
Oh, sweet blasphemy. What greater power created this world, what infinite wisdom conspired, to close the gates of night at dawn and open them wide tomorrow?
I'm just a fool, and though I believe in magic, I still feel the edge of my soul, still know I could never have done it.
How could a God create your body, unless he was your lover? And for your soul he had to cry. He had to laugh out loud to shape your smile and to give up his wings to make you fly.
She had to be a mother so she could make your heart, hide all emotion in your eyes, and yield the strength you have inside.
And then she must have died to make you mortal, he must have died to send you down to earth, she must have died again each time we've hurt you and he again each time we've touched.
Perhaps all men ought to fill the halls of hell, for all the wrongs we're doing while alive, walking through a corrupted Eden and holding down angels by their hands.
Heaven is right here, beside you. And I don't care what they say.
If it's a sin in the eyes of God to want you, then they ought to make room for me in the fire, though I'll be aflame all my life.
But if by His or Her grace you're here for a moment, a blink when time's eye sheds a tear, if death is the price that I pay to hold you and my only sin be not to love you, then know it's my honour to pay it and know that I'll die like a child.
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I've been meaning to write this one for a while.
Something for all the girls and all the women that I knew, that I know, that I will know or that I will never know.
cc
Something for all the girls and all the women that I knew, that I know, that I will know or that I will never know.
cc
Comments17
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So for prose pieces, I like to read through once and then go through line by line, adding in comments in bolded parentheses.
How could I ever say "this is what I want in a woman"?
Every cell in your body or thought inside your mind, every single colour of your soul or dream inside your hand I'm just a mortal trying to dream the Universe tonight. (Great imagery, good concepts)
Oh, sweet blasphemy. What greater power created this world, what infinite wisdom conspired, (Comma splice) to close the gates of night at dawn and open them wide tomorrow?
I'm just a fool, and though I believe in magic, I still feel the edge of my soul, still know I could never have done it. (Could have done what?)
How could a God create your body, unless he was your lover? And for your soul he had to cry. He had to laugh out loud to shape your smile and to give up his wings to make you fly.
She had to be a mother so she could make your heart, hide all emotion in your eyes, and yield the strength you have inside.
And then she must have died to make you mortal, he must have died to send you down to earth, she must have died again each time we've hurt you and he again each time we've touched. (I would clarify the we's here. Do you mean men?)
Perhaps all men ought to fill the halls of hell, for all the wrongs we're doing while alive, walking through a corrupted Eden and holding down angels by their hands.
Heaven is right here, beside you. And I don't care what they say.
If it's a sin in the eyes of God to want you, then they ought to make room for me in the fire, though I'll be aflame all my life.
But if by His or Her grace you're here for a moment, a blink when time's eye sheds a tear, if death is the price that I pay to hold you and my only sin be not to love you, then know it's my honour to pay it and know that I'll die like a child.
Powerful piece, great imagery, and very original, great job!