The Pendulum

I listen to the souls of my brothers
and hear the deep beat of tension

The world churning the head turning
the slow tennis  dance of their eyes
back to Eden back to forever
in context no note forgotten
rhythm accentuated in their cry.
How in the holy ghost can heaven
stand the gruesomeness.

Vision within without
raw flesh revealed pummeled
puffy pink red needing assuage
absorbing absolving ablution
What of earth can giant hills of
time contain?  Hard rock fused of
paused clay?  Sacred space sentient
sonorous sensuous?

I look into the souls of my brothers
and see the deep set of their hearts.


©Sojourner Kincaid Rolle  1998
All Rights Reserved

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