Treasure Island

Bill Cantrell

A Beast Or Not A Beast, That Is The Question

The wolf is resting at my feet.
With lions I have played.
United in a bond of peace,
Together we have grazed.
Imperfection clashes!
Sparks walk up to the fire.
Gifts placed upon the alter,
Yet, the flame has no desire.
Words, they have been spoken,
Slaps, they strike my face.
A sheep acts as a beast for prey;
Vanished is all grace.
My mind calls out for justice,
And echoes through the trees,
Then seeing this, a test of love,
The call comes back to me.
Haughtiness is oh so tall,
And groomed in fancy dress.
So high above all others,
With no sins to confess.
A sacrifice smells sweeter
When one lets himself be wronged.
Remove my, self- importance
Where the mark of peace belongs.
Fatty pieces of humility,
When placed upon a fire,
The alter warmly welcomes such
And sends its smell up high.
God’s spirit pours upon him,
From the threshold of his floor.
Peace it is then granted,
We see a beast no more.

Submitted: Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, February 11, 2014

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