Tuesday, May 24, 2011


The sun rises over the hills
her luminescence shattered into beams
by the towers and blocks of a
World, in its middle age,
with sins not excusable by sincerity,
but planned and scheduled like virtues.

Feeling has returned to my limbs
that had been numbed by the cold bed
of stones with the cold air
The old sweet stench inside the jail
becomes new and bitter in the sunlight
My jailer's breath dampens
all the teeth under his crushed eye are gone
he is here because he can not fight only swear
and he knows the captain

Lead me than, my friend, to the torture
To the place of martyrdom
Take me to the place of preparation
Where you will mock my old flesh with a shield and spear
And hang a bronze breast plate from my shoulders

I have comforted the others throughout the night
while we heard you and the captain laughing
at dice and women but you did not have your way
for your lust is hollow like your eyeless socket

While the bright sunlight burns the morning frost
the old women stir the embers and bow three times
boys throw stones at us from the alley
and laugh as they run away
You drag your feet at this duty
which brings you neither satisfaction nor discomfort
I shall only be remembered by you as an old man who
went to his death like a stupid beast
in blank confusion
and you shall spend today's wage
the total sum of all that I am to you
on sour wine and stale bread

And I shall pray for you


Divya P said...

hey your poem is awesome :)

what inspired it???

Miguel Cuthbert said...

This micro-story is about an unknown martyrdom in the roman colliseum. Linus is the name of a bishop in Rome (hence Pope) but the details of the story are not meant to be consistent with tradition.

The objective of the story is to assert that the saint understands human reality in a way that the rest of the world does not.