He just doesn’t know how

to turn a blind eye

to the needy


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



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


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


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