The Slave
Your soul lives upon the hill,
Whoso shall the sparrow sing with?
Your soul avoids the forest,
Whoso shall the doe weep upon?
So don’t gaze upon the stars, you Pharisee!
For if you were a mossen crevice,
You would please the Lord in beauty –
So die upon his rotting cross;
Not the slave you weep upon.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
