They glare with eyes like frozen steel,
Piercing, yet blind to what is real.
They see the frame, not the flame,
And brand me with a borrowed name.
Their hearts beat cold, devoid of grace,
Slander drips from lips that never face
The truth I carry, bold and bare—
A golden heart they wouldn’t dare.
They speak in tongues of defamation,
Crafting myths from accusation.
As if I’m carved for crucifixion,
A symbol of their own affliction.
But I do not break—I crystallize.
I rise beneath their shallow lies.
Resilience is my quiet hymn,
A light that does not beg to dim.
So I ask you now, with open hand,
Do you think I’m a sacrificial lamb?
Or am I the storm they failed to tame—
The soul they tried, but could not name?
I am cold-forged, born of frost and flame,
A heart of gold beneath the blame.
Not prey, not pawn, not silent ghost—
But the truth they fear to face the most.
Streaks of pallid moonlight
wash over blood-stained
burnt umber leaf blight.
Glistening stainless steel remains
within wilting noir roses
and blistered blades of grass.
Sickening hands shake my repose,
heart racing, sure to collapse,
feeling faint.
A revolting nausea elevates,
trying to find restraint,
as madness deregulates.
A heart separated
from a lifeless corpse—
death awaits.
Flashbacks play like static reports,
too hard to get a clear picture.
Splashes of splattered red fill
spaces in between scriptures.
Screaming echoes spill,
dirty visions getting clearer,
as the sacrificial lamb
becomes the predator, evaporating fear.
Fighting for the blade, fingers clammy,
spinning out of control.
How could you bring me to this?
Steel cuts against palms, foretold—
splatters of crimson spray, don't resist,
covering fear-filled eyes.
One last-ditch effort:
grab the hilt and arise.
On this deadening night, collect.
You became Samhain’s sacrifice,
a feast for the demonic nether, sanctified.
This was one of the first poems I wrote when new at Poetry Soup.com five years ago and I received a wonderful welcome from the lovely poetess Connie Marcum Wong.
White daisy's in a wicker basket
graced the tiny metal casket
where his lifeless body now lay..
Family and friends wrought with grief
shook their heads in disbelief,
as he was only ten years to the day..
His story made the news with it's
familiar tragic hues and the politicians
had their say..
People gathered on that street, lighting
candles, placing wreaths in remembrance
of where he was slayed..
The sun still shines on this space, his spilt
blood cleansed to not a trace but what a price
his community has paid..
What kind of world have we created
when young lives can be negated falling'
victim to gun violence every day..
When Christ was resurrected from the tomb,
sunrise broke the gloomy darkness
and the heavy stone rolled away to let Him
flee from the tomb of many sorrows;
His father waited for Him to declare Him
King of Heaven, that place so ethereal,
watching the angels bow to the sacrificed Lamb
and their song was loud and gleeful!
The resurrection of the sacrificial Lamb was God's plan
to redeem sinful Mankind and bring salvation
to everyone; nobody would be spared and saved
had not Christ given up his life for everyone who sinned!
Mary Magdalene fell asleep mourning her Lord
and waking up by the empty tomb, she saw
Christ rise and crying she was overjoyed
by the awesome sight and let her fear unthaw!
The resurrection of the sacrificial Lamb
was an event understood by some, not by all;
only believers spread this news like the apostle Paul,
who knew that Mary bore Christ in her womb!
flocks of sheep paused their grazing,
looked up to speak to me,
the bright moon kept watch,
like a big farm dog,
looking over a tall birch tree!
I condoned with their bleating,
of their inhuman suffering,
heard their soul’s appeal!
the green meadow fed them,
from fresh goodness of its being,
knowing too well,
that this would be their last meal!
Imagist poetry contest
Brian Strand
Written 10/Dec/2020
White daisy's in a wicker basket
graced the tiny metal casket
where his lifeless body now lay..
Family and friends wrought with grief
shook their heads in disbelief
as he was only ten years to the day...
His story made the news
with it's all familiar tragic hues
and the politicians had their say...
People gathered on that street
lighting candles, placing wreaths
in remembrance of where he was slayed...
The sun still shines on this space
his spilt blood cleansed to not a trace
but what a price his community has paid...
What kind of world have we created
when young lives can be negated,
falling victim to gun violence every day...
GARDEN'S SACRIFICIAL LAMB JESUS
Let me pass
I'd go neither north or south
There's no need to react
I'm presenting myself
a living sacrifice
And my life no longer under law
God has given me a new one
No longer shall I sacrifice
A bullock rams or lamb
Jesus came died and became
are sacrificial lamb
He became the one
He died, sinless hug and rose
Again He rose again
Jesus is my garden
3/27/18
written by James Edward Lee Sr. ©
Not all news of its existence brings joy –
a heartbeat is denied the trumpets
instead, news is shared in long drawn
out breaths with eyes that never dry.
A vow was broken long before –
Those nights, when they turn off the light
a silence is broken amidst long sighs.
A creature of habit learns in time certain
vested interest will come to be expected;
promises are forgotten in the dark.
But this is unexpected news; now the light
need no longer be turned off every night.
The weeping stops when a decision is made;
she finds that self-sacrifice does not extend
beyond the sanctity of life. A creature
of habit learns hypocrisy the hard way.
After: Twilight Confidences by Cecilia Beaux 1888
For Debbie Guzzi's Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting 7
Kim Patrice Nunez
14 January 2016
The little lord Jesus
asleep not on the hay
but in the street
Like Abraham the little
boy was sacrificed on
the machine's high holy day
One day after the Winter Solstice
His family lived in a comfortable
home in Brooklyn NY but his father
took the subway to the highest
mountain near The Dakota in Central Park West
The 3 year old named was translated
to Kyrios Christos or the Lord in his father's tongue
He was placed on the high alter
at exactly 12 noon prime meridian
On the day in question
a mother's child was stolen from the womb
unlike the Star of Bethlehem
Venus went backwards
Virgo in opposition to the dark side of Pluto and Pisces
and the Uranus square or the Trickster
Like Christ his red blonde hair
was covered in blood
the measure of oil equivalent
30 pieces of gold
In three days times
the three wise men would have been
welcome to Gotham City but the Mayor
went golfing in Bermuda and the shops were out
of Gold Frankenstein and Myrrh
But what of his message of peace and good will towards men
the sacrificed was paid
and the little Lord Jesus
lay not in the hay but
dead in NY city streets
His glorious throne He left
for this unruly world of theft
A great sacrifice He offered
for the world He suffered
Into this world He was born
The sewage of sin He had to burn
Gifts they brought
His life Herod sought
The erudites swore
Crown of thorns He wore
Oh!
He died then, though alive
Halleluiah!
He's resurrected, yes He has
The precious lamb of God has
risen to life
Three days in the grave, yet back
to life
The power of death He has
thrown into the eternal sack
The sacrificial lamb
The Sacrificial Lamb
On the cross
Shedding His Blood
So our souls would not be lost
What greater love could there ever be
Who could love us as much as He
Giving His life for an entire nation
One selfless act to save all of creation
Reserving us a space
In our heavenly Holy Father's place
Our final home to come
In His Wonderful Kingdom
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