Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Solistice Ballad

Sun disc pale and white
At the low point of the year.
Day gives way to night
and the wet branch drips    a tear _

that holds a falling world
compressing all we see
into a tiny liquid globe
hung on a silent tree.

While Roman steel is hurting
and their armies make us bow,
From Mary’s belly bursting out
a child infused with power.

We listen for a while
to universal love;
he conjures up a spell
to change the eagle   to a dove.

But   the dove   grew talons
and his song became a scream:
a Church bore down upon us
where the Roman boot had been.

So we traded Church for Market
and the donkey for a Ford
but there’s nowhere we could park it
and the children soon got bored

and the banks that gave possessions
are calling in their loans;
their smiles hide their aggression:
they want everything we own.

But the sun will rise beyond this death
And next year we shall find 
Another  way to shield the Earth
From the Roman soldiers’ mind.

© Richard Lawson 

December 2006

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