We carried nature’s vile
secret wrapped up in a cloth.
Only we knew it was worth
more than the coin we begged,
the bunch of us a gaggle of sawed-off, dry-rotted stick people
wishing to become straw.
the bunch of us a gaggle of sawed-off, dry-rotted stick people
wishing to become straw.
And yet we had this power –
default of human fear.
Through a poisonous eye I
looked past those weeds and slopes and pronounced my blunted curse upon my
Enemy, as he called heaven to task upon my staved and feculent limbs.
“Make a show of it only to
priests,” said he.
But only for a price had I
ever kept a secret.
Who now would pay – the
penurious priests?
The rich young rulers with
their backhanded charity?
The curious drew near and
would have
fingered what moments
before they had shunned,
had I not clung to the same
scurvy cloth.
Then, as if hell were
drying to the bone,
I watched their dazzled
eyes dim one by one,
leaving me alone with my
Undoer.
In him I soon found that
which I feared most –
the
vile, hideous purity of my own soul.
To read other entries in my
blog, please consult its website:
enspiritus.blogspot.com. To know
about me, consult the autobiographical entry on the website for Dec. 5, 2016.