Dancing Jinn In Nag Hammadi
Blind in the all-consuming mist without a trace of light
Blind in the oven’s black smoke that makes all songs to Jesus seem hushed
A woman grabbed some of the treasures given from the height
In her worn hands, feeling the papyrus and straw being now crushed
And threw them in the flickering fire to be their plight
Though she feared preserving these written worlds would bring the jinn
Jinn danced in wicked victory on the perishing, once green lands
Simply dancing in circles as the night sky flames of sin
As the songs of these lands became whispers above dead seas and sands
And these whispers became nothing, without even a din
What mysteries vanished into the air, taking their leave
What pure prayers were never heard again, just left for time to bury
Maybe the Gospel of Perfection, the Gospel of Eve
Maybe the flawless hymns of Bardesanes, the Questions of Mary
Our burning hearts will never know, but our souls will still grieve
About how some manuscripts of the Nag Hammadi Library (discovered in 1945) were tragically burned to fuel a simple oven fire.
Copyright © David Hyatt-Bickle | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment