It must be the Sufjan Stevens in me. I've always had the urge to turn every project (in this case; a blog) into a production. Intertwining ideas, perspectives, diversity into one cohesive slab of something more than just the regular bare bones. Like Sufjan, I get bored with my ideas very quickly, and as a result, I need to stuff everything I can think of into the chest and hope it works out alright. I had the vision that this blog would become a grand project: a monstronsity, featuring reader-multiplying posts of varying kinds. Hooray for overblown-ness.
One of the most exciting features I was looking forward to starting was this one; the guest post. I'm hoping this guest post will be the first of many (optimally: 13) which will feature a different classmate here at the Crossing. The aim of the guest post is for you to get to know who I'm living with a bit better, to learn about this place or what we're learning from another perspective, or to simply witness (via the internet) their talents, as is the case with the first guest post from Jordan.
Jordan has a passion for English literature and aspires to become an English teacher. He puts his English AP credentials to good use here in this extended metaphor which came to be originally in his mind during the Mt. Somers hike and has since been translated into text for all Spirit Parade faithfuls to read!
Without further adieu, enjoy the talents of Jordan Lee.
Guest Post / Jordan Lee
The car pressed on through the night,
rain battered the windshield faster than it could be swept away.
Trapped in the back no longer driving, who’s in control?
I wrote a thousand save me’s on the fogged and icy windows.
From the other side it was just obscure scrawls at first glance.
Too bad that’s all it ever got.
Music filled the silence that chokes and crushes and hides.
People hammered on the windows as the car slowed to round a curve.
I can’t hear what they are screaming over the din of an angry cadence,
nor can I see their faces through the now frozen glass.
The car hurtles on, beyond the range of measure.
Fleeting along a seemingly impending course that neither slows nor ever turns.
Beyond the end of the road, farther than I could clearly see,
The horizon glowed faintly with vague hints of the approaching dawn.
The music fades violently into nothing, and in its place,
A siren song of abrupt confrontation, pierces the awful air.
The print stained window slides into its metal sheath.
I am blinded by what can not be.
The sun flares through the portal, into my bitter, clammy fortress.
“I have nothing for you.” I said to the man outside, looking in.
“Why are you doing this?” He asked, as if not expecting a response.
But I shot back in guarded rage.
“Stop trespassing! What’s mine is mine, get out!”
“I have wandered through fields of pain, sown with your defiance.”
He was searching me, even as he spoke.
Feeling open and exposed, softly I said,
“I’ve told you once, now leave me be, there’s nothing here of interest.”
“LIAR!” He roared, stabbing with a word.
“You can hide nothing from the eyes that see,
you can never bury what you’ve done.”
He displayed his own humanity and challenged me to do the same.
Slowly I began to speak; expressing a sea of deep transgressions.
Then slowly caution lost it’s hold and confessions flowed unchecked.
A sudden change in pressure from inward to out.
The windows shattered with the rush of words.
The speech pours out with an energy no language can disclose.
After all was said, after all had been made known,
I looked at him with my chest cut open and pleaded quietly,
“Sew me up or kill me now, but please don’t leave me broken.”
He reached inside the car and then he grabbed ahold.
He tore out what had hindered me, healing what was left.
He stood there, holding onto the wrong that once was me,
with a melancholy smile, drawn underneath sad and knowing eyes.
He muttered something softly as his head drooped to his chest,
and a single tear cascaded through the valleys of an aging face.
I only caught a few words, “I ha..............., now live.”
Then the dark and angry men came and took him, saying,
“Look what he holds in his hand, an abomination, surely he’ll hang for this.”
They left me be, for when they asked, I denied I knew his face.
As they dragged him off to certain death, something dropped from his jacket to the dirt.
The angry men in their vicious zeal failed to see the volume fall.
It was tightly sealed,and leather wrapped it round.
Hours later when I was sure the stealers were long gone,
I left my throne of cowardice and ventured to the spot.
I picked up the book, it’s cover blank, and with caution, looked inside.
What I saw brought me to the ground; page after page,
a list of everything I have ever done wrong.
I read it all, and by the end, I was left a weeping mess,
every page, devoid of good, was full of sin.
When I turned over to the final page, I saw that it was blank,
empty, save the muttered words.
“I have died so that you may live for me, now live.”
Trembling I shut it tight and glanced at the cover once again.
What was blank at first now is stamped in the deepest shade of red.
These words I’ve yet to comprehend, these crimson words that free the lost,
“It is paid in full.”
rain battered the windshield faster than it could be swept away.
Trapped in the back no longer driving, who’s in control?
I wrote a thousand save me’s on the fogged and icy windows.
From the other side it was just obscure scrawls at first glance.
Too bad that’s all it ever got.
Music filled the silence that chokes and crushes and hides.
People hammered on the windows as the car slowed to round a curve.
I can’t hear what they are screaming over the din of an angry cadence,
nor can I see their faces through the now frozen glass.
The car hurtles on, beyond the range of measure.
Fleeting along a seemingly impending course that neither slows nor ever turns.
Beyond the end of the road, farther than I could clearly see,
The horizon glowed faintly with vague hints of the approaching dawn.
The music fades violently into nothing, and in its place,
A siren song of abrupt confrontation, pierces the awful air.
The print stained window slides into its metal sheath.
I am blinded by what can not be.
The sun flares through the portal, into my bitter, clammy fortress.
“I have nothing for you.” I said to the man outside, looking in.
“Why are you doing this?” He asked, as if not expecting a response.
But I shot back in guarded rage.
“Stop trespassing! What’s mine is mine, get out!”
“I have wandered through fields of pain, sown with your defiance.”
He was searching me, even as he spoke.
Feeling open and exposed, softly I said,
“I’ve told you once, now leave me be, there’s nothing here of interest.”
“LIAR!” He roared, stabbing with a word.
“You can hide nothing from the eyes that see,
you can never bury what you’ve done.”
He displayed his own humanity and challenged me to do the same.
Slowly I began to speak; expressing a sea of deep transgressions.
Then slowly caution lost it’s hold and confessions flowed unchecked.
A sudden change in pressure from inward to out.
The windows shattered with the rush of words.
The speech pours out with an energy no language can disclose.
After all was said, after all had been made known,
I looked at him with my chest cut open and pleaded quietly,
“Sew me up or kill me now, but please don’t leave me broken.”
He reached inside the car and then he grabbed ahold.
He tore out what had hindered me, healing what was left.
He stood there, holding onto the wrong that once was me,
with a melancholy smile, drawn underneath sad and knowing eyes.
He muttered something softly as his head drooped to his chest,
and a single tear cascaded through the valleys of an aging face.
I only caught a few words, “I ha..............., now live.”
Then the dark and angry men came and took him, saying,
“Look what he holds in his hand, an abomination, surely he’ll hang for this.”
They left me be, for when they asked, I denied I knew his face.
As they dragged him off to certain death, something dropped from his jacket to the dirt.
The angry men in their vicious zeal failed to see the volume fall.
It was tightly sealed,and leather wrapped it round.
Hours later when I was sure the stealers were long gone,
I left my throne of cowardice and ventured to the spot.
I picked up the book, it’s cover blank, and with caution, looked inside.
What I saw brought me to the ground; page after page,
a list of everything I have ever done wrong.
I read it all, and by the end, I was left a weeping mess,
every page, devoid of good, was full of sin.
When I turned over to the final page, I saw that it was blank,
empty, save the muttered words.
“I have died so that you may live for me, now live.”
Trembling I shut it tight and glanced at the cover once again.
What was blank at first now is stamped in the deepest shade of red.
These words I’ve yet to comprehend, these crimson words that free the lost,
“It is paid in full.”
awesome poem!
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