The Prophet - Son of Nun
( It seems the only thing eternal life has left me is eternal tears.
For my lost son Christopher; named after the god who suffers. )
I knew you before I met you
cage crossing through mad books
your stainless leap
forcep-blessed
matrix-reprieved
weaving bled-shred
embers to god-pled
braving
the cairn of night
to do full
dubious ends
god's just
flung to hijacked earth as
after-thought
of finer stone
slashed lash skin broke to Moses hues
whose mode struck cursed
to sudden wander
to tower-armed berths annexed next in
your voyeur's finger rage
to run abducted through heuristic sunk-end heads
and sacrifice your brokered queen
prove your tongue-burning tears
a strangled pen
inched favor from chain-shell shouts
sieved by sheltering friends
savaged the race-card feeds
fouled in chilling fidgets
glyphed everyman's advance
to cherish one ascending
giving divinity thought-shadow charges
to dodge doc's sunny reparteé
finally
bipolar glue-power unclogs the gash
cherish your psyche's wormwood-hack
your peace-ink cooling blue
your snow-truth judgement bridged
with one bank and a gun
whose prophet
son of none
_________________
Notes:
1. A journalist once asked the Dalai Lama if he had to reduce the teachings of Buddhism to one word, what would it be. His response was; "Compassion".
If asked to do the same for Christianity, my word, similarly, would be: "Kindness".
Copyright © Robert Warlov | Year Posted 2018
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