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...