Altars are terrifying things to think about. Altar’s are where we place offerings for sacrifice. I may be incorrect but the first reference to an altar in the bible is the altar where Abraham placed Issac.
and i have you there.
and i can’t wait anymore.
what once was the moment, that i couldn’t see before,
is now our time,
and all that i can see now.
i love you, my dear,
and you love me too,
and now we shall,
shall we not?
I stand beside the altar with my book in hand, tears streaming down my face. The sound of explosions and screaming stream in from outside. I wonder if this is the end. I wonder if I will die here tonight. Is this it? Is it all over? Have our Gods abandoned us to live as slaves to the new religion or die?
altar al and tar. tar is black shit on the ground unless this word is alter or altar i dont know for sure but i know alter is when something is changed. nonetheless i dont know what it means
She knelt at the altar, looking at the palm of her hands, asking herself “why?” More than that, she asked what (or whom) she called God, why? “What was there to learn from this?” she thought to herself. She stood up, hesitating, thinking that if she removed her touch from that altar, she would be abandoning all that she ever held true.
I ran up to the altar. Waiting for my man to show. But he didn’t. He left me waiting at the altar. But no one was there so i was all good anyways. But still he left me/ Stranded.
He didn’t want me. No one did. That’s why I was alone. At a church. On the altar. With no audience. No groom. No priest. No one.
I ran up to the altar. Waiting for my man to show. But he didn’t. He left me waiting at the altar. But no one was there so i was all good anyways. But still he left me/ Stranded.
she arrived at the chapel to find it vacant. the smell of burning candle wax and incense warm her senses. she walked up before the altar, laid spread eagle on the floor. her forehead touches the ground and presses tears from her eyes forming a pool, that fill the crevices of the wooden floor beneath her. held up by her elbows, she looks up at the cascading light of bottle green, amber and blue that bounce and ricochet gently across the room. she whispers … “forgive me.”
funny how this comes up on christmas eve. it’s kind of strange how those of us who are religious worship some sort of deity and yet the altar which is supposed to hold it never comes up that often. what if we could alter the altar??
On the altar of our Lord, we see our self-gratification. The mental semen that drips from it drowns the voices of those who lay strangled and bound in the pit where it leads to.
An altar is where you go to talk to Jesus. He’s the one who helps you when you struggle, saves you from the ugly and picks you up from the ground. An altar is where you can be yourself, because you are yourself and with someone who knows absolutely everything about you.
Cassandra couldn’t believe it. She was actually getting married to Don Lothario. It had been a long journey and she couldn’t say it had been perfectly smooth or easy, but the fact was, Don Lothario was waiting for her down the aisle and underneath the altar with a bright smile on his face, ready to take her hand in marriage. This was her dream come true. This was it.
Religion has always intrigued me. I’ve never bought into it, but I’ve always found it so horrifyingly interesting that people were willing to die and to kill for something they were so unsure of. It was the huge omnipresent force pushing people to be humane and, in the same turn, pushing people to unspeakable evil.
Religion. My dad doesn’t believe in it, he’s a scientist. He argues, every time we get together, with my Orthodox Jewish relatives. It’s a pain to listen to. Also because of this, we don’t celebrate holidays. Ever. Tonight’s Christmas Eve, and we have nothing to do.
she walked down the aisle slowly, sure to keep her eyes stuck on the altar in front of her, and the man to whom she was soon to be married. yet, she couldn’t help thinking of herself years ago, and the difference in that vision and what reality had brought her. there was no small boy clutching the delicately embroidered train of her dress, and no father whose fingers wound tightly with her own, calming her rising heart beat.
Beyond the altar, Don stood, his hands flexed beneath himself at an awkward angle, and his head poised in prayer. He had not prayed for months, but now he had every reason to. He wasn’t certain, but he knew he was going to die. He brought himself away from it all, into the darkness that consumed him.
altar. isn’t that the thing when people get married at a church? i’m thinking so. i know this because you always hear people say that someone left them at the altar. well not always.. but yeah. that’s sad. when someone leaves you at the altar. the world’s messed up man… MESSED UP.
Priest do religious rituals in churches full of people who could hardly give a shit. A place to sacrifice another life for a god who probably has no use for an animal’s soul. The same goes for the sacrificer. What the hell can he do with a dead body except eat it? Unless he’s a vegetarian
The foghorn rolled in slowly off the bay. Richard stood on the shore next to his impromptu altar, holding the fresh bananas in his arms. He closed his eyes and imagined his beloved Delores standing next to him, repeating the vows. Holding her hand out to him, he placed the finest banana therein.
“A-OOOOOOOOOGAA.”
He awoke from his reverie draped in fog. He sat down alone and began to eat his bananas.
at the wedding of my brother
he married his cousin our cousin, third cousin, its legal, im in red im next to the mother i havent spoken to in 10 years he hasnt spoken to her in 10 years why is she here, she’s already crying. i need to go.
In the altar there is a way in but no way out. If you go there you will be forced to make a choice. It is an unforgiving sort of situation. It has destroyed many before you and will destroy many after you. Make your choice.
An altar is something religious i suppose. Not something I’m very much interested in. But i was bored so i guess i’ll take this minute to try write something about it. Its usually found in a church and um… i don’t wanna write about this anymore. Its boring. Why couldn;t they have given me a better word than “altar”? Its so boring. They could’ve given me the word Round or circular or shapely or something like that.
i held my hands together and looked up at the altar that stood before me. he kissed my forehead as i stood trembling. i wondered how i got here, if i would ever leave, if i could ever become the person i truly wanted to be. was this what i really wanted? or was this merely a mirror image of what my mother had planned out for me all along? i wanted to run away, to run fast and chase my dreams before i ran out of time.
a statue thing that is flat at the top. or maybe a simple podium (sp?) type thing. Also, an object that is used at weddings. the only thing is, i never really see “altars” at weddings so I’m not completely sure where those are located or if they are invisible. I also picture them in white or just a brown wood.
Stones cut symmetrically and stacked just so, dripping with sacrificial blood while a priest chants to Baal above. And Elijah covers his in water and fire rains from heaven consuming his sacrifice and all the priests of Baal are put to shame.
Where i willmary the man of my dreams. The beginning of the rest of my life. I know its cheesy but, in truth uts all i’ve every dreamed about. To be wh one man who loves fully and completely.
twice i have gone to this webpage and twice i have received the word “altar” as a topic to write about. i wonder if that is the only word that can be given to anyone that choses to type on this website, and the website is just collecting everyone else’s thoughts and views on this word. im sure that there are many translations and points of view to be described on this word, and that each short writing is unique and no two are quite the same. some will be wrong, some will be short while others are extensive and exactly translated. i know that i am not using punctuation, capital letters, or any correct form of typing but i am trying to finish a short paragraph about the word “altar” that i have only mentioned twice. also i should never use “i” in a paragraph but it will draw readers in. although, im not sure who will be reading this or if i have wasted several minutes typing this short ‘essay’, only for it to be seen by me. also, i have run over the 60 seconds that were provided to write in. fortunately, there is excess time to “Finish up your last sentence” and i have chosen to use it to ‘write’ even more about the word “altar”. im sure this website has done this to many others, intriguing them with their own wisdom flowing from them to the computer screen, disappointing them with the fact that they only had 60 seconds to show the internet the extent of their knowledge, and causing them to continue ‘writing’ about their given word. also, i would be surprised if i was the first to have ‘written’ a paragraph completely avoiding the given word, and deviating to describe the several unappreciated aspects of this website. though if indeed i AM the first, then i see a sad future for tomorrow’s literature. many paragraphs submitted will fully describe the word “altar” or any other word they are given(if other words are, in fact, given) and their authors will be pleased at their piece of work and go on contently with their day fully satisfied with their textbook knowledge. others like me however will insist on ditching the textbook and creating something on a custom layout designed by a fully creative mind. the creativity is found only when the basic minded close the textbook(figuratively) and discover only on their own. there is no thesis to this paragraph other than this: the estimated majority of people will choose to stay normal and fit guidelines while the selected few will “close the textbook” and look around once in a while, if not always.
I stood there at the altar wondering, what would it be like when I was older and got married. Myself only being of 10 years age, couldn’t stand the thought of being with a man forever. Mostly because my own mother has had 3 husbands on her own.
reminds me of church, symolic really, y’know, you go to church and the vicar preaches from the altar which is where sacrifices are often offered up to the gods in pagan ritual, well maybe that’s too general. you get the gist. it’s the symbol of death and salvation is one.
It’s just a table, isn’t it? I’d guess usually wood or stone, if you’re getting fancy. But because of this tradition of religion, because of the incense and candles, it’s holy. What about my kitchen table–scarred and worn–can’t that be holy? Hasn’t it seen more miracles?
i think of weddings. a beautiful wedding inside the same church. the pews filled. las vegas. elvis. cheap hearts. bad people marrying into. divorce. beautiful wives. perfect family. everyone happy. i want a wedding some day. with my best friend. forever together, bound in an altar. 60. seconds.
Altars are terrifying things to think about. Altar’s are where we place offerings for sacrifice. I may be incorrect but the first reference to an altar in the bible is the altar where Abraham placed Issac.
somewhere to pray
somewhere to talk
to give thanks
to cry
to hope
to question
to make sacrifice
your votive
and i have you there.
and i can’t wait anymore.
what once was the moment, that i couldn’t see before,
is now our time,
and all that i can see now.
i love you, my dear,
and you love me too,
and now we shall,
shall we not?
I stand beside the altar with my book in hand, tears streaming down my face. The sound of explosions and screaming stream in from outside. I wonder if this is the end. I wonder if I will die here tonight. Is this it? Is it all over? Have our Gods abandoned us to live as slaves to the new religion or die?
altar al and tar. tar is black shit on the ground unless this word is alter or altar i dont know for sure but i know alter is when something is changed. nonetheless i dont know what it means
At the altar of peace, no one is praying. The methods are unknown. The people don’t remember how. Everything is in limbo. Something is missing.
She knelt at the altar, looking at the palm of her hands, asking herself “why?” More than that, she asked what (or whom) she called God, why? “What was there to learn from this?” she thought to herself. She stood up, hesitating, thinking that if she removed her touch from that altar, she would be abandoning all that she ever held true.
I ran up to the altar. Waiting for my man to show. But he didn’t. He left me waiting at the altar. But no one was there so i was all good anyways. But still he left me/ Stranded.
He didn’t want me. No one did. That’s why I was alone. At a church. On the altar. With no audience. No groom. No priest. No one.
I ran up to the altar. Waiting for my man to show. But he didn’t. He left me waiting at the altar. But no one was there so i was all good anyways. But still he left me/ Stranded.
she arrived at the chapel to find it vacant. the smell of burning candle wax and incense warm her senses. she walked up before the altar, laid spread eagle on the floor. her forehead touches the ground and presses tears from her eyes forming a pool, that fill the crevices of the wooden floor beneath her. held up by her elbows, she looks up at the cascading light of bottle green, amber and blue that bounce and ricochet gently across the room. she whispers … “forgive me.”
funny how this comes up on christmas eve. it’s kind of strange how those of us who are religious worship some sort of deity and yet the altar which is supposed to hold it never comes up that often. what if we could alter the altar??
On the altar of our Lord, we see our self-gratification. The mental semen that drips from it drowns the voices of those who lay strangled and bound in the pit where it leads to.
An altar is where you go to talk to Jesus. He’s the one who helps you when you struggle, saves you from the ugly and picks you up from the ground. An altar is where you can be yourself, because you are yourself and with someone who knows absolutely everything about you.
Cassandra couldn’t believe it. She was actually getting married to Don Lothario. It had been a long journey and she couldn’t say it had been perfectly smooth or easy, but the fact was, Don Lothario was waiting for her down the aisle and underneath the altar with a bright smile on his face, ready to take her hand in marriage. This was her dream come true. This was it.
Religion has always intrigued me. I’ve never bought into it, but I’ve always found it so horrifyingly interesting that people were willing to die and to kill for something they were so unsure of. It was the huge omnipresent force pushing people to be humane and, in the same turn, pushing people to unspeakable evil.
Religion. My dad doesn’t believe in it, he’s a scientist. He argues, every time we get together, with my Orthodox Jewish relatives. It’s a pain to listen to. Also because of this, we don’t celebrate holidays. Ever. Tonight’s Christmas Eve, and we have nothing to do.
she walked down the aisle slowly, sure to keep her eyes stuck on the altar in front of her, and the man to whom she was soon to be married. yet, she couldn’t help thinking of herself years ago, and the difference in that vision and what reality had brought her. there was no small boy clutching the delicately embroidered train of her dress, and no father whose fingers wound tightly with her own, calming her rising heart beat.
lost truth. greed begetting greed. blood becoming wine becoming blood. lies. God knows the truth. i believe. thats all i need.
Beyond the altar, Don stood, his hands flexed beneath himself at an awkward angle, and his head poised in prayer. He had not prayed for months, but now he had every reason to. He wasn’t certain, but he knew he was going to die. He brought himself away from it all, into the darkness that consumed him.
altar. isn’t that the thing when people get married at a church? i’m thinking so. i know this because you always hear people say that someone left them at the altar. well not always.. but yeah. that’s sad. when someone leaves you at the altar. the world’s messed up man… MESSED UP.
Priest do religious rituals in churches full of people who could hardly give a shit. A place to sacrifice another life for a god who probably has no use for an animal’s soul. The same goes for the sacrificer. What the hell can he do with a dead body except eat it? Unless he’s a vegetarian
“A-OOOOOOOOOGAA.”
The foghorn rolled in slowly off the bay. Richard stood on the shore next to his impromptu altar, holding the fresh bananas in his arms. He closed his eyes and imagined his beloved Delores standing next to him, repeating the vows. Holding her hand out to him, he placed the finest banana therein.
“A-OOOOOOOOOGAA.”
He awoke from his reverie draped in fog. He sat down alone and began to eat his bananas.
at the wedding of my brother
he married his cousin our cousin, third cousin, its legal, im in red im next to the mother i havent spoken to in 10 years he hasnt spoken to her in 10 years why is she here, she’s already crying. i need to go.
In the altar there is a way in but no way out. If you go there you will be forced to make a choice. It is an unforgiving sort of situation. It has destroyed many before you and will destroy many after you. Make your choice.
An altar is something religious i suppose. Not something I’m very much interested in. But i was bored so i guess i’ll take this minute to try write something about it. Its usually found in a church and um… i don’t wanna write about this anymore. Its boring. Why couldn;t they have given me a better word than “altar”? Its so boring. They could’ve given me the word Round or circular or shapely or something like that.
i held my hands together and looked up at the altar that stood before me. he kissed my forehead as i stood trembling. i wondered how i got here, if i would ever leave, if i could ever become the person i truly wanted to be. was this what i really wanted? or was this merely a mirror image of what my mother had planned out for me all along? i wanted to run away, to run fast and chase my dreams before i ran out of time.
god jesus church altar altar serving fifth grade holy family school middle school friends, best friends, fun, laughing altar, church, long waiting
a statue thing that is flat at the top. or maybe a simple podium (sp?) type thing. Also, an object that is used at weddings. the only thing is, i never really see “altars” at weddings so I’m not completely sure where those are located or if they are invisible. I also picture them in white or just a brown wood.
wedding. a place you pray at. a white banister looking pillar thing
I smoothed a cloth over the table, and set the green candle on the north side.
I pulled out a lighter, resisting the urge to run my fingers through the flame.
I lit the candle.
And I gave in.
been there done that, bored before this altar of of inequity and strife
Stones cut symmetrically and stacked just so, dripping with sacrificial blood while a priest chants to Baal above. And Elijah covers his in water and fire rains from heaven consuming his sacrifice and all the priests of Baal are put to shame.
Where i willmary the man of my dreams. The beginning of the rest of my life. I know its cheesy but, in truth uts all i’ve every dreamed about. To be wh one man who loves fully and completely.
twice i have gone to this webpage and twice i have received the word “altar” as a topic to write about. i wonder if that is the only word that can be given to anyone that choses to type on this website, and the website is just collecting everyone else’s thoughts and views on this word. im sure that there are many translations and points of view to be described on this word, and that each short writing is unique and no two are quite the same. some will be wrong, some will be short while others are extensive and exactly translated. i know that i am not using punctuation, capital letters, or any correct form of typing but i am trying to finish a short paragraph about the word “altar” that i have only mentioned twice. also i should never use “i” in a paragraph but it will draw readers in. although, im not sure who will be reading this or if i have wasted several minutes typing this short ‘essay’, only for it to be seen by me. also, i have run over the 60 seconds that were provided to write in. fortunately, there is excess time to “Finish up your last sentence” and i have chosen to use it to ‘write’ even more about the word “altar”. im sure this website has done this to many others, intriguing them with their own wisdom flowing from them to the computer screen, disappointing them with the fact that they only had 60 seconds to show the internet the extent of their knowledge, and causing them to continue ‘writing’ about their given word. also, i would be surprised if i was the first to have ‘written’ a paragraph completely avoiding the given word, and deviating to describe the several unappreciated aspects of this website. though if indeed i AM the first, then i see a sad future for tomorrow’s literature. many paragraphs submitted will fully describe the word “altar” or any other word they are given(if other words are, in fact, given) and their authors will be pleased at their piece of work and go on contently with their day fully satisfied with their textbook knowledge. others like me however will insist on ditching the textbook and creating something on a custom layout designed by a fully creative mind. the creativity is found only when the basic minded close the textbook(figuratively) and discover only on their own. there is no thesis to this paragraph other than this: the estimated majority of people will choose to stay normal and fit guidelines while the selected few will “close the textbook” and look around once in a while, if not always.
I stood there at the altar wondering, what would it be like when I was older and got married. Myself only being of 10 years age, couldn’t stand the thought of being with a man forever. Mostly because my own mother has had 3 husbands on her own.
reminds me of church, symolic really, y’know, you go to church and the vicar preaches from the altar which is where sacrifices are often offered up to the gods in pagan ritual, well maybe that’s too general. you get the gist. it’s the symbol of death and salvation is one.
It’s just a table, isn’t it? I’d guess usually wood or stone, if you’re getting fancy. But because of this tradition of religion, because of the incense and candles, it’s holy. What about my kitchen table–scarred and worn–can’t that be holy? Hasn’t it seen more miracles?
His clammy tips sweated through the photograph
thin yellow paper, teabaged round the edges
He rediscovered it, slipped between
crumbling pages of dried diary
He studied the image – imaginary, impossible
up unitl that second of sight, a switch flicked
A bulb, bland, then bright, then broken
Takes and steals the pose, position, person
And he will worship the memory, a magnet
in a box of pins all pointing to his chest
i think of weddings. a beautiful wedding inside the same church. the pews filled. las vegas. elvis. cheap hearts. bad people marrying into. divorce. beautiful wives. perfect family. everyone happy. i want a wedding some day. with my best friend. forever together, bound in an altar. 60. seconds.
The place where you gather to make peace with yourself. It is safe and secure you feel like home in it.
It is simple yet strong makes you think of yourself.