FRAGILE GOD! BROKEN! STRANDED!
Locked inside your wounded flesh.
Stricken like a child lost in the dark.
Where is that might of which our fathers told?
Who stole your strength? Who cut that ancient power?
Where lies your sword of justice, only stone cast now?
Like fragments of a dream you shone
Through coloured glass, then disappeared.
I see birds swoop in pairs and know
that they have scented spring.
The nest of moorhens grows
out of its watery bed and mocks my grief.
Has no one brought to them
the message of despair?
Ah poor fool creatures do you yet conceive?
IS there some ancient message in your tissue?
Do echoes of you – O departed God – still sound to day?
O let me hear your lingering call
and find within my heart an answering sigh.
For that would be enough.
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