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Rated: E · Other · Spiritual · #1809841
a poem about death, association with Bible
In the silence of the dark and tiny room

When the both clock’s hands grasp for the last in line apostle sitting at the round table

When eyes long  for the miracle to come,

my heart  throbs,

I can see it all coming again, I can taste bitterness of every  tear shed ,I can hear every breath and sigh...

No sooner has the last supper finished and the cock crowed twice than the past disowns him in the fear of  the future ,the Universe  washes its hands and  the crowd of stars applause.

Then they will place cross of world’s sins and tears on his shivering shoulders and let him carry it somewhere till  the end of the times.

It  will look for the last time at the red, starry sky above him and give out its soul to Father with his final cry.

But as soon as the tough hands of  time  move the stone out of his grave it will raise again and  let me rest my tired head on the pillow, relieved...

As I know I don’t have to fear of Midnight anymore...



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