NOTE: This poem was written by a dear friend in response to my poem “This is Justice“. He was kind enough to allow me to post his response here.
Your lips, stained with wine from the dread communion cup,
fresh drawn from wounded backs;
to the splendour of your jewelled mask is drawn the eye as your axe
you swing: your judgment spoke’ in honeyed tones, your eyes adoring, looking up
to Olympian peak, to gods these men know not.
My God’s name you speak to justify your condemnations, but His love you have forgot’.
Though their messenger, you doubt your mountain gods – you take courage but from that cup
filled with that sweet liquor, your masters’ great delight, sucked from the hearts of braver men than you,
whose faith you imbibe for to hold up your weak chin,
and to let your visage glorious’ glow, though there is but emptiness within.
Your gods, they have no hearts, nor know they false from true
or care, for idols cannot know nor care and cannot love.
Knowing your emptiness, you condemn, chanting the prayers of man,
and ridicule the brave whose hearts are full of Him whose name you would ban.
How many forged hands will you break with your jealous claws? How many gentle words will you, grinning, boo,
Smiling to show not righteous face,
But bloodied fangs shaping words of poison base?
Would not it be better had I slain your broken heart? Would not it be better had I never loved you?
– Izak R. Crafford
