Shattered Reflections
by Joshua Silva
I met myself in the midnight
I searched his eyes, touched his face
He gave me a drink
And something to think on
It was clear that he was
A stranger in this place
I heard his plea and Revelation.
So I took him by the hand so cold
And like Pilate, the pharoahs,
The kings, the emperors,
And the Holy Roman Caesars of old
I lead him to Golgotha and to the Cross,
To the trainyard, and to the Showers.
Where he wept and bled
Mourned and wailed
And died within hours.
I wasn't sad for him,
Though he never rose again.
His hands were idle sinners
But his work could never end.
No comments:
Post a Comment