| Author | Message | ||
| M
Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3712 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Willing to Wait It Through M “Deliver me, out of my sadness, deliver me, from all the madness. . . Deliver me, the cross that I’m bearing. Deliver me. Oh, deliver me.” -- Sarah Brightman, Deliver Me; Eden All in this sallow room cry out for salvation at the altar of miracles, raise up broken bodies to gods of medicine. The cure is not questioned. They are made to endure rashes, fevers, anemia. They become hairless, are struck blind and deaf by the shaman they believe in. They vomit sludge, yet arrive for healing like venerate pilgrims to Bodh Gaya. They continue to come though it’s known three-quarters of their numbers will be granted no miracle. One refuses to pay homage to this ritual of needles, tosses pills skyward like rice at a wedding. Those with black-rimmed eyes and flattened veins chastise and berate: “You will die, you will die, you will die.” All will die. Only the one will be delivered. |
