The makings of a saviour
are their marks,
the scores awarded, lashes, thorns,
brought and bought to still their voice,
endured for truth, before the Law,
the lore that spread, of hope from death.
It’s cross road faced, with choice of ways,
whatever faith, philosophy;
with reason folk see stumbling block,
tradition and religion built.
It was that twinset brought him down,
the rebel who taught folk worth more
than ritual, rule surpassing love.
But die was cast, as for his cloak,
again as prey, eyes lifted up.
Here we gather at the foot,
at the river, crossing point,
or any place where people count.
Stephen Kingsnorth (Cambridge M.A., English & Religious Studies), retired to Wales from ministry in the Methodist Church due to Parkinson’s Disease, has had pieces published by on-line poetry sites, printed journals and anthologies, including Poetry Potion.
His blog is at https://poetrykingsnorth.wordpress.com/