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An Ode to a Hymn
“Like aught that for its grace may be
Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery”
—Percy Shelley in “Hymn to Intellectual Beauty”
Cathedral with its prayer sings homily
_About an ancient mystery,
_What is this ancient mystery!
Oh God, are you in truth my family?
These Bible-blackened pupils do imbue
_A sense of something colorful,
_A touch of something wonderful,
But it would seem this wonder up and flew.
This grace threads through the darkness of the day
_Which stews as toxin in my gut
_And ravaging, attempts to shut
The world in all its Beauty far away,
So pray I must! It has been told to me
_That all is not as it would seem
_But oh! What is this seasick dream
That sticks me ‘tween both Heaven, Hell—this sea!
Do ghosts know that the Beauty of the world
_Is drifting loose and formless there
_Like shadow or a formless glare
That hits an eye that’s blind, where sight is furled?
They walk with me, possess me as I go
_And sing to saints long dead, in church,
_With hope that out from me will lurch
A love, Romantic love I used to know.
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C. Walker is a poet studying English Literature and Creative Writing at Cornell University. He is the founder and Editor-in-Chief of Lucky Lizard Journal. His debut chapbook Vale was recently published through Kelsay Books. His poetry is published or forthcoming in various journals and magazines, including Home Planet News, Aphelion, and Rainy Day. His website is www.cwalkerpoetry.com.
