Amandus

Amandus (c. 584 – 675), commonly called Saint Amand, was a bishop of Tongeren-Maastricht and one of the great Christian missionaries of Flanders. He is venerated as a saint of France and Belgium.

Life

The chief source of details of his life is the Vita Sancti Amandi, an eighth-century text attributed to Beaudemond (Baudemundus). The vita was expanded by Philippe, abbot of Aumône. According to this biography, Amand was born in Lower Poitou. He was of noble birth but at the age of twenty he became a monk on the Île d'Yeu, against the wishes of his family. From there he went to Bourges and became a pupil of bishop Austregisilus. There he lived in solitude in a cell for fifteen years, living on no more than bread and water.

After a pilgrimage to Rome, he was made a missionary bishop in France in 628, without a fixed diocese. At the request of Clotaire II, he evangelized the pagan inhabitants of Ghent, later extending his field of operations to all of Flanders. Initially he had little success, suffering persecution and undergoing great hardships. However, after performing a miracle (bringing back to life a hanged criminal) the attitude of the people changed and he made many converts. He founded a monastery at Elnon where he served as abbot of for four years. Amandus was made a bishop in 628.

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by: Amenta

We drown in the bile
Of a frustrated birth
A knife grows in every back
Jaws clenched and tongue bitten
These are all wasted words
These are all a wastrels words
Meanings you will never find
Hidden, lurking between the lines
We are revolving to
Our drain
We are revolving to
Our drain
I've lifted my chin
And ignored the noose
But there is gravity
In the centre of the void
The seed of its end
In every creation
Of a sullen cremation
Heels in the tug of tide
We shudder on shore
Lands end
And what have we got?
Nothing but memory
Success or failure?
Gathering our rags
We walk into the waves
We are revolving to
Our drain
We are revolving to
Our drain
The brightest light
Will gutter, quicker
The wax will stifle the wick
As we burn
For the yearning ember
There is nobility in flame
For the faltering fire
There is only shame
We feel the whine
Sharply, in our teeth
And all our pasts
Chained to our ankles
This is not another
Slit wrist suicide
Its our future drowning
In the bile of cyanide
We are revolving to
Our drain
We are revolving to
Our drain
We drown in the bile
Of a frustrated birth
A knife grows in every back
Jaws clenched and tongue bitten
Drowning in the currents
Of another fleeting void
At the mercy of sleep
The brightest light
Will gutter, quicker
The wax will stifle the wick
As we burn
For the yearning ember
There is nobility in flame
For the faltering fire
There is only shame
Only shame
For the faltering fire
There is only shame




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