threshold 2

Uncategorized Jul 17, 2019

On the threshold of your throne room
where the hills meet the plain,
there, enveloped in the safety
of your stronghold once again

where the stones sing your praises,
and the grasses wave and sway,
wrapped cocoon-like in a vault
in the heat of the day 

with clamped hands on our mouths
in the presence of your power
as the blind cast their eyes
toward your brightness and cower

we might think that we can invert
all the world's natural laws
and then fade into the background
as the holy one withdraws

when the stones sing your praises
how can mankind stand mute
on the obscured path to heaven,
profligate and dissolute. 

Liz McFadzean

“Threshold 2” is actually the first poem that I wrote about the art installation in Texas.  I penned it in my journal in this hymnic form, and then began to deconstruct it, to arrive at the poem that I published last week. Then, as I usually do, I put both poems away and let them percolate, planning only to publish one of them. But when I was switching to a new journal, I went back and found this poem and realized that while both verses had the same source, they were entirely different poems.  And so I offer them both to you.  I wonder which one you prefer. 

Close