It's time for a brief interlude. Here's a poem I wrote sometime ago.
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RUMORS AND GOSSIP
Rumor had it he was a bastard child,
Gossip had it he was a mother-only child;
Divinely rendered in virginal womb - a phenomenon - an "only-one," special made
Clone of God and man.
Rumor had it his body was stole.
Gossip had it he bodily rose from a sepulchral niche
On the gardened side of the hill
Not three days after they had him killed.
It's lamented, the shortened life
Blessed the lengthened life
Considered robbed the purposed life, taken too soon.
An odd human trait, to measure life from birth to its demise.
Rarely considering the worth of the life,
If the one who lived it was kind or wise.
Each grave marker a stopwatch, frozen in time, waiting for a cosmic thaw.
Is it hope or fear that makes us chisel into stone once-lived years
Or do we do it to make sure not extend memory beyond a few?
His purposed life robbed; on sweated, blood-soaked, necrotic wood he died.
It's worth entombed before the sun stopped to shine;
Out of sight, out of time, wrapped for worming food.
His dates not yet paced, there was mourning to do and faithless fear of
A non-atoning tomb .
Then he was gone; no longer entombed.
Rumor had it he was seen by some, and that's when the gossip grew.
Rumor had it he was seen by some, and that's when the gossip grew.
Norm Wright - November 11, 2008
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Until tomorrow' post...
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