Jesus Speaks of Freedom

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My hall is white.  My doors

open to empty white rooms

and a world of white rock.

Save one.  There, a glass case

holds the green of all the woods,

and all the horrid shades

of a thousand thousand cracked

and crumbling statues.

 

I drape it in a white shroud.

I’ve hunted through the gravel

since I stopped the sun within the sky

to find a grey stone

to silence to awful white.

 

The Lizard is always near,

scampering from the edge of sight

on His long, long arms.

 

He is not of my world; He came

to taunt me with his wretched green,

and to mock the chewed stubs

of my fingers with His claws.

 

This poem was originally published in The Prism Quarterly, Volume 7, Number 3, January 2005.

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