Speechless 150 150 Rodney Wilder

This, the fire often lauded on wing-enshrouded lips;
angels no less resonant to its glory
for the eyes they hide in their feathers.
Vibrating like exultant tines, their tongues
this resident splendor
dress in adoration and song.
Pinnacle of Paradise,
His luminary nature bathes Heaven in bows of color,
spokes of light effused through veils
of water and of breath,
and all the while the choral host marvels through its praise:
What greater beauty, what greater love,
than that of the Ancient of Days?

When rapt with dreams of Eden and the canvas in its folly,
gored He from out the breathless naught
a palette of spheres and stars,
nebulae spooling their tendrils, blooming
the astral script of their flora ‘cross the gallery of space.
The masterpiece incomplete,
He dipped His carbon-censed hands
into something both cradle and coffin,
breathed Himself into its mannequinned earth,
aglow at the prospects of fatherhood,
and all the while the choral host marveled through its praise:
What greater beauty, what greater love,
than that of the Ancient of Days?

Then there came the day when He His stellar clime forsook,
a descent no hymnal tribute
could either reconcile or slow.
Despite the waterfall crescendo lending Paradise its joy,
this King heard something soft and pained
upon the Heavenward wind, a voice
that tore through Him like the garden’s first words, broke Him
as with the ferocity apportioned
to mothers concerning their young.
Every seraph and cherub felt the whole of Heaven shift;
the unfathomable engine in God’s footsteps,
omens devoid of augur
’til He stopped at prostrate Gabriel
like the sun through raven nacre.
His hand on the angel’s shoulder,
a maelstrom of intent unreeling the ghastly scandal
He had prized since prising the dark:
omnipotence, squalling in feeble flesh,
stretching portentous limbs toward a hill slaked with blood,
its ruby folds alight with wights each as bright as God…

Spying all of this, this spirit made for the purpose of praise
for the first time in his service
found himself with nothing to say.


Rodney Wilder

Rodney Wilder is a biracial nerd who bellows death-metal verse in Throne of Awful Splendor and writes poetry, with previous work appearing in FreezeRay Tales of the Talisman, and his first collection of poetry, 2012's Ars Golgothica. Currently writing his fandom-fueled followup, he likes nachos, analogizing things to Pokémon, and getting lost in Oregonian forests.

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