Saturday, May 23, 2015

Amos and Conscience

 
I knew it was wrong
Out there in desert winds
I sensed your honour
I knew of your love
And also of your terror.
The ewe would tend each tiny lamb
Much like you
The lion would roar and descend
The sweetness would come
Unto the sycamore.
The scorching heat
Would crackle.
And water with the delicious sound
Of its flowing
Proved the greater of riches.
Trips to market showed me
The callous cheating
The heartlessness
And the haunted eyes of the starving
And the lonely.
The perverted holy days
Of the North
Full of pomp and form
Missing anything of mercy
Or of honour
Deserving of your wrath
Then and now.
We have seen the locust
Drought and dearth.
Lord will you stay your hand?
Must you lay out that plummet
Measuring Israel for the crash?
Its crafted idols for the flames?
How little you desire sacrifice
Looking rather for sweetness of the heart
And true reverence.
Finding it so rarely.
And they call me deluded, un-schooled
An outsider
Scarce worth the notice.

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