The Travail of the King
Glory LoveWorld
On a gloomy eastern morning I saw a man clad in nothing but a white piece of cheap linen draped around his hip A criminal he was named to be Yet there was nothing incriminating about him Eyes filled with love He had Hands tender to the touch Feet's set like iron and brass Majestic was His every stride Upon His head sat a bleeding thorn of agony and pain Upon His back laid a crossed tree of shame Bearing all the weight of treacherous accusations Alone He wobbled under the weight of great conspiracy His skin was flushed and flayed in horror Like a bruised reed He appeared to be The glow was gone from Him Flesh out of place, bones sticking out A distorted figure passed before me Eyes stung with tears I blinked back the flood that welled up within me Head hung low I watched on in dismay the trail with no hope It was the travail of my King A trial to save An ironical paradox No one could ever preconceive Indeed this was a travail The travail of a True King ©heavenly_broadcast
2018-09-04 19:01:30
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Maee
I've never seen anything this good! So beautiful.
Відповісти
2018-09-05 14:03:32
Подобається
Glory LoveWorld
@Maee - Thanks, I'm glad you liked it Maee; and most importantly, that it imparted you.
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2018-09-05 21:41:04
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I Saw a Dream
Ілва Стрілецька
I saw a dream, and there were you, And there was coldness in your eyes. I wonder what a kind of true Made you become as cold as ice. And later I looked back to get a sense This empty glance was hellish call of past. It used to be a high and strong defense Against the world, the pain and me at last. You looked at me, and peering in your soul, I felt so lonely, as something vital died. And that is what I fear most of all - That nothing gentle will remain inside. Inside of you. Inside of me as well. And nothing will be said to farewell.
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