POETRY FOR A PRISTINE GIRL

POETRY FOR A PRISTINE GIRL*
(To all the honorable hearts and rebel romantics out there.)
by Becket Knottingham

I met a girl with eyes of ocean blue,
I tried to pull her from the pagan realm,
But it was something this sailor couldn't do,
And before I knew it, she had the helm.
I went down fighting for something I believed,
While my soul never strayed from the pinnacle,
And that, my friend, is what made it hard to grieve,
For flesh is but a temporary shackle.
Those eyes-- they bound me to a dreary day,
For they could never see the words I spoke,
Without a soul to anchor things she'd say,
Soft promises drifted when she awoke.
With no constraints, unrequited temptation,
Conversations drowned out by her TV,
On the pill to counter God's creation,
A long time before she ever knew me.
She said stop twice and called it modesty,
Like getting trashed for our anniversary,
Tight skirts and bars-- she needed all to see,
Her subtle, endearing humility.
Surrounded by her friends, all so astute,
With their profound sitcoms and MBAs,
they laughed at my jokes, they thought I was cute,
and cast aspersion on my quiet ways.
They worshipped all those who treated them wrong,
They believed in nothing but what they felt,
In their context Christ's kindness wasn't strong,
They needed to share the pain they'd been dealt.
To me love is a painting, poetry,
A relationship is a work of art,
Where actions embroider the tapestry,
To her it was but a strategic chart.
I enjoyed the work, she wanted the pay,
A part-time player in her transactions,
Her friends told her that I got in the way,
Of their suave and superior abstractions.
Guess I'm a simple guy, the starred night sky,
And of the pristine feminine I'm a fan,
But this culture taught her to live a lie,
To trade her virtue and become a man.
I wanted the romance our forefathers knew,
The deep romance they teach us to deny,
But the Book I found, I knew it was true,
When the words shook my soul and made me cry.
But there were moments where I pulled her free,
And I know she felt her eternal soul,
But then again, it could've just been me,
We kept afloat because I filled a hole.
I wanted mountains, she needed to ski,
I spoke of marriage, she just needed now,
Somewhere within, she confused being free,
With a sinful love that God can't allow.
I read Shakespeare while she watched the movie,
I loved the sunflowers, she needed museums,
Like Van Gogh I guess I felt art was free,
While she religiously bought all that seems.
Where most would feel shame, she created a game,
kept her parents and friends laughing at me,
while I strove to light an eternal flame,
she thought it healthier to just sleep with me.
Postmodernism's queen, she'd poll her friends,
take phone surveys on the right thing to do,
as long as it was a means to an end,
abortion if a child just wouldn't do.
Demanding forgiveness without judgement,
I watched her cut the prophets' souls in two,
What ever she believed, that's what God meant,
And thus whispering prudence wasn't true.
And every time that I sought to explain,
she clicked call waiting to the other line,
I told the silence what I couldn't feign,
and I told her that I was feeling fine.
Against their culture called economy,
Against Cosmo and all they advertise,
They dressed up licentiousness as liberty,
Virgin Mary in a bulimic's disguise.
And all these things that I could never say,
The bold Truth she'd always seek to deny,
Not out here, where her innocence would fray,
Her soul belonged somewhere warm, safe, and dry.
And so I'd tried to make her a Christian,
Gently and subtly, without any pain,
While I endured the judgements of a pagan,
Those sky blue eyes and a cold soul of rain.
And I guess it was that rain that I saw,
two puddles reflecting an honest sky,
Such infinite beauty, I held in awe,
And leapt to give eternity a try.
It hurt to dive into those deepest eyes,
And find out that they were just shallow pools,
For her deeper soul, where true beauty lies,
They'd made a kingdom for pagans and fools.
I know, my Lord, this sailor went astray,
Drifted meself, trying to make her whole,
For something more I thought I heard her pray,
But the Truth broke my heart and saved my soul.
And Lord, I feel that I have done my time,
Ready to kneel before a Virgin heart,
With reason and rhyme, I'll confess my crime,
And by God's great grace, make a brand new start.
Now she's crying, but there's a silver lining,
Out of the fog, an angel walks my way,
These words ran with her tears, now the sun's shining,
Blue eyes cleared of the postmodern fog's grey.
O' the forgotten power of a poem,
The mirror of the spirit's reflection,
For love, faith, and honor, a sturdy home,
This noble vessel of vital redemption.

* Used with permission.

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