Excommunication by David Bowden

Return Return by David Bowden

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Excommunication
by David Bowden

Album: Return Return

Creation was words before it was earth and sky
Spoken construction created by
tongue flung hammers, jammed into rows of enamel nails,
rammed by blows through two panels of two by fours
Forerunning the forests
Preceding the trees
Foregoing the gulfs
Predating our predecessors
The earth was in quake and speech was its epicenter

Strung together words
Sung from heavens perch
An unknown language speaking a universe into birth
The vocabulary of formation
Nature's first verse

Seed planted vowels
Buried in chanted nouns
Enchanted consonants
Implanted continents
Third person subjects with
Confirmed predicates
'It is good'
The affirmed sentence

With terms he sent his semblance
Spoke his essence into presence
The entrance of presents the exit of severance
Creation accepted the precepts of his utterance
In the utter annunciation of his fertile discussions
The discovery of humanity, the need for penance
'It is very good'
A life sentence

Words created creation with the intent of good
Creation berated the words by doing not what they should
The creator paraded creation out of the word rooted woods
Now all creation is gated, and the word is misunderstood

Exiting conversation's commune
First, extracted from communication
Then, excluded from communion
Excommunication

Those ancient words that animated sand to man
An initial conversation with uncreated tomorrow
The first solo song, unwritten monologue
They grow louder in our mother's womb
The dirt of our conception
The garden of our groom
A concept rises in concert
Concentrating its sound through centuries of trees,
Generations of streams, decades of seas
Eden screams

Her labor pains, her exaction
Her beckoning, her contractions
Her water breaks, her reaction
Her sea section, her extraction
Her christening, her transaction
Her betrothal, her attraction

Infants of the garden
You hardened orphans of the tree
You were born of an artist
Spoken poetry

Hear the singing soil, every gene is his
Skin made through sentences, our genesis
Now in our womb we must toil, from our origin we exited
The fabled hidden grove
Children of the Exodus