The vultures circle
in cloudless sky,
glinting, beady eyes
fix upon the corpse.

But this is flesh
imbued with life,
not cast aside for scavengers
on a pilgrimage of plunder
but held, lifted, shown
to poor, to meek, to voiceless,
to those that would never ask
let alone take.

The golden surround
pales in the presence of His glory,
so small and white,
behind the glass
yet never contained.

It is the scaffold for my spirit,
in one moment, support
in another,
the place of my execution
as man must die
in His gaze
to be lifted, like Him
with Him.

(Written 18.VI.17)


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