The face of God
edited 24th Feb 2021
I look down upon the gathered crowd.
Know each singular history.
They stare up at me unknowing
Of my yet unwritten story,
But in the ending knowing
They have witnessed the face of God.
He’s lit by the light of seven burnt out candles
Lined up before a splintered mirror,
Face split across four shards, a blade in another
Transforming his blood to crystals.
In one eye spin images of his first children –
Daughters tall and strong, wolf sprung eyes,
Sons birthed from the first gravid skies –
Guardians of all soils, keepers of the garden.
In the other evolution’s selected lords,
Private enclaves, barbed wire gated,
Guarded, those inside well sated,
Outside stunted horizons, people empty gourds.
He looks at the fractures of his dissected face –
Deep lined with the pain of divisions,
The Word, its multiple revisions
Bereft of all original traces – its grace
Dismembered, discoloured beyond recognition,
No longer God’s face, just a self-serving vision,
Its lies briefly glorious before collapsing,
Since no earthbound pretence can be everlasting.