Spiritual Poetry posted March 5, 2014

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An Ekphrastic Poem in iambic pentameter


by Marillion


I found him on a lonely Saturday— 
A tragic angel sculpted — and I felt
His brooding mood, arrayed in such a way 
He shrank within, and downward, as he knelt.

Combining more than craftsmanship and art,
He was a shrine to vulnerability,
A bronzed reminder of the brittle heart,
This paralyzed immortal on one knee.

His wings were tucked, as if he’d been ashamed 
Of doubting a decision by his Master— 
Or possibly despondent as he blamed 
Some godless monster for a world disaster.

Or was he Lucifer, before he fell,
About to pay the penance for his war,
Receiving judgment — and a throne in Hell—
To reign in ash and flames forevermore? 

With patron verve, I wondered if his eyes
Were set obscurely, wet with tears, or closed—
And if, defiantly, he’d somehow rise
Above the place he was forever posed—

But no! — he hadn’t moved, and never would.
His form was fated by the artist’s hands—
Perhaps in prayer, because he understood,
Or burdened by the freight of God’s demands. 


This is an ekphrastic poem, or a piece written about a piece of art. The sculpture in the picture is one I purchased several years ago. I was always struck by the pose of the angel, who appears despondent, and I enjoyed creating scenarios and identities for him. Well, it spawned this poem. Thanks for reading.
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