Non-classifiable
A Season of Mercy
A season of mercy
has been granted us,
this long time now -
history
by crucifixion
has always demanded patience.
House after house
has been built on the shore,
the same fishermen fishing seas
for the One man who spoke to them
from the water.
Some are tired of waiting;
some have lain down to die,
but still others persist
with dew in their eyes
so that even I must turn
this time now
to face Him at last
mercy's desire
granted.
Salt
Suddenly salt has lost its savour.
Love and all that it meant
is now a fragment of a bowl
no longer capable of holding water
but of only the caked white reflection -
a self, distorted and wan
weary with lines of knowing,
scarred with wounds that have truly savoured,
and known no other cleansing.
I just stand there, listening to the blood pounding in my head. I'm aware of Daniel beside me, can almost hear him breathing. We're dead quiet, but the gang must sense us. The short one has been crouching, looking at the person on the ground. Now he straightens up, turns in our direction. In a low voice, he says something I can't hear. For a second, he steps into the light, and I catch a glimpse of his face. It's angular and bony. Skull-like. I know who it belongs to. His name is Damien Sykes. Lots of people know him. I just pray he doesn't know me.
He's seen us. "Hey! You!" he shouts. Somehow his words break the spell, and we can move. Beside me, Daniel has finally found his feet. He slams into me as he wheels around and takes off in the same direction we've come from. I am right behind him.
