mathyr

Mathyr

He just doesn’t know how

to turn a blind eye

to the needy

and

braves through

the scourging sun

to rain down favour

from the universal angel of love

 

 

 

 

Tattooed to the back of his hand

is a sketch of the world.

He knits together

the tapestry of lost hope.

At daybreak

his blood

washes the street 

His is the tabernacle

of ceremonial thanksgivings

 

 

 

For the torture that life foretells

He is well equipped

An unrepentant saint

neither lost

nor

destroyed

his heart weeps daily

for the complacent distortion of universe

An unfortunate dystopic reality

 

 

 

To the citizens of mankind

he greets with shalom

The lord’s prayer

is

his bread

there is no greed

no careless trickery

To all those willing to listen

he invites into oneness in his house

 

 

 

 

The legend of the moon,the lights of the sky

heralds from this Mathyr’s tale

Today he was stripped

Crucified,

he let out a wail

that shakes beneath the earth.

He is crowned the lord of all lords

and showers his mercy even more radiantly 

 

 

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