Poetry

B.Z. Niditch
PROFILE About me Poetry (81)


19 july 2012

ORIGINAL

Taken for the voice
of a sage
after resistance
to the contary,
 
refusing all laurels
for nearly being
only a memory
for truth,
 
without an echo 
in annals
of tormented
ridicule,
 
Buried
as red flesh
without ashes
or speech,
 
no airs
only whispers
from crowds
who look away.


number of comments: 1 | rating: 7 |  more 

daniel,  

i enjoyed this precious glimpse of the divine visitation. this poem is like a searchlight momentarily flashed upon the despairing darkness of human history, long enough to capture the image of the Teacher, High Priest, the Redeemer, the Lamb of Sacrifice, and the Servant/King Yeshua. thank you, b.z., for sharing your wonderful inspiration.

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