Found this fantastic poem at Faith, Fiction, Friends:
The Stoning of St. Stephen
He barely noticed the first,
hitting his left shoulder
at the arm,
face, shining.
He looks upward as the second
pointed, sharp, tears skin
on his neck,
voice, calling.
The third and fourth together
herald the rock torrent
piercing, tearing, ripping,
wind, rushing.
The fourteenth aimed precisely
smashes the right side of his face,
absorbed in blood and light,
body, falling.
He murmurs forgiveness
through broken teeth,
his spirit soaring into
sky, darkening.
2 comments:
Nate - Thanks!
I struggled with this. It began much more wordy. Eventually I stripped it down to an essential minimum.
This started as a mediation on what it means to serve.
Thanks again. Your resposne tells me the work that went into it was worth it.
Yeah, Glynn, you definitely did a fine job at painting a simple yet compelling picture. I'm glad you put the time in!
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