Tuesday, March 08, 2016


Your stomping stokes something
Strange. So insane that you followed.
Carrying those lashes up the hill. You,
Despised by our modernity of love,
Shackled by your ignorance of era,
Grabbed and misled those eyes, those
Boyhood lights of your only blessed
Light. Up to the depths of faith where
You strapped your makeshift sheep, your
Plight upon the stones. Flames and rod
Drawing closer, breathing heavier for the
Kill. You were led. Your knife imagined
The tender skin, the horror in his small
Unimagined eyes, the sorrow of the bow,
The sorrow of the bow. The sorrow of the
Bow. Mary fell heaped at the ruin. A
Cancer dissolves a skin. A crash puts out
A hope. Holocaust. Inquisition. End.
A ram tangles, and again we begin again.


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