THE MAN

Turning

Blood to water

Gold to lead

Wine to tears

Gave him

A kind of

Mystical quality

A few bowed heads

Here and there

Some knelt

Others preyed

My role

Was less important

The dry eyed

Cynic

Uncompromising

Believing little

Questioning

Everything

It all changed

Though

For he told

Good stories

Talked of peace

Levitated a little

And walked on water

It was then

I really began

To take notice

As tricks

Turned

To miracles

Hungry masses

Were fed

The dying

Brought to life

A blind man

Saw a sunset

Cripples walked

Disease-ridden

Bodies

Began to dance

But what really

Swung it

For me at least

Was the promise

Of immortality

Safe in a paradise

Fit for poets

And just next door

A harem of whores

 

Stephen Morris