Anthony Hurford posts a poem concerning the difficulties of embodiment / 4 September 2013
I had an idea to write something about incarnation and gathered some phrases, but didn’t think I really had something, especially as it’s a big thing others have definitely done – but then I thought I’d give my partial view a go and this is how its taken its own form.
Born, this is the meat of it,
the meta too for some.
This feast of flesh.
Which way does it go, control,
flesh to spirit, or spirit flesh.
A balance must be struck, you say.
Yet the dreams of the body are relentless,
so much time spent over this temple’s ownership.
A war, it can be, no less.
God, gods, demons or some conflict that makes sense.
Written into flesh and flesh to self,
I’ve cycled through human forms, ideas
of myself, poses struck, a life cycle of
Dante-esque mug shots for God, GPS stamped
holistically for judgement, and my own
and the last laugh, that of others,
who’ll join the feast upon yourself
with their set menu,
as if they knew.