bi_janus Posted July 18, 2014 Report Share Posted July 18, 2014 Whitman Among the Baptists Bi Janus “What a friend we have in …” With own eyes level between heaven and hell the boy finds his eyes in the back of the hall. Easing against the wall, water drips from his linen shirt fresh from some baptismal font. Both hear the crowd’s voices, raised as one, rattle the metal folding chairs, as, eyes closed and faces turned toward heaven, it searches for Him — it could only be Him. Bird song over the drooping sun, beards and loose joints, muscles and sweat smell break the spell as the boy pulls his arm over his own shoulder, shelter from the believers’ fears, his needs too close under his skin, pressing against crowd conscience, pulling him away from Him toward him. Link to comment
Cole Parker Posted July 18, 2014 Report Share Posted July 18, 2014 I like that one! C Link to comment
Merkin Posted July 19, 2014 Report Share Posted July 19, 2014 Yes! As he sang it himself:'Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or am touch’d from,/ The scent of these arm-pits aroma finer than prayer,/ This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.' Link to comment
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