One of my classes last semester focused on reading American poetry with our University's president. It was only a one-hour, honors colloquium class, which basically means it was just for fun. At the end of the semester, our final was to write a poem imitating one of the authors we had read. I chose T.S. Eliot, specifically his Christmas poem "Journey of the Magi."
I hope you enjoy this artistic attempt. And if you want to know a bit more about my imitation, I did also write a 4-page paper explaining it! Let me know if you're interested.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I
was falling, falling, falling,
As
in the dream, which always ends
With
the crashing realization of lying in bed.
But
the jolt never came:
Instead,
a gentle slowing, drifting down like a feather
Until
darkness turned to soft light and I found myself
Reclining
at a feast table with him.
Instinctively
I knew: here was my forefather,
Abraham,
the great friend of God.
Surrounded
by beauty and comfort and rest we lay
No
need to end or hurry away.
The
smells of the food and the décor of flowers
Flooded
my nose with a glorious melody of scents.
So
much better this than my last conscious memory:
Of
heat and fever burning me up,
Of
pain all around aching in every limb,
Of
concern on my sisters’ faces, and of hushed whispers
Of
the darkness closing in, blacker than any unlit room;
And
then the fall, and finding myself here
I
could stay forever.
But
then came the voice
Like
a blast on the shofar, clarion and loud
“Lazarus,
come forth,” the call was for me.
Abraham
nodded: “The Master calls, His voice you must obey.”
Suddenly
I found myself again floating away
I
came to in the dark, my nose pricked now
By
the fading smell of an old body.
Wrapped
tight, I could barely move
Shrouded
as I was, a cloth over my face;
Yet
the summons had come and I must go.
I
heard their gasps as I felt the light change
From
the dim tomb cave to the bright outdoors
Martha,
Mary, unwrapping me, holding me tight
Scores
of people: friends, neighbors; startled, withdrawing
And
there He stood, His face wet with tears.
So
He returned me to the Life I used to live;
But
nothing now is the same.
Rabbis
don’t know what to do with me
No
rules are there for one brought from Death to Life.
People
come and stare and stare
And
all I can remember is the feeling of peace;
I
long for that peace. And now,
Now
the chief priests want Him dead. Him,
And
me also; we threaten their authority.
I
know not what He thinks
Though
I do feel from Him a special kind of pity;
Yet
for me, Death holds no more fear
They
can kill me if they want, I’ve already died
I would be glad to
live that truer Life again.
