Becket Poem by Padraig Devlin

Becket

In the cathedral
I should think
of God
but instead
think of you.

The trick
that split
us apart
was yours,
my lord.
You thought me
a man easily molded.
Godliness
was not my strength
you knew.
And more -
that I would do
your bidding
and serve the Church
up to you.

The waning light
of winter
Bathes the nave
in stained glass glow.
Please, my king.
Try to forgive.
This time
I can't bend
to your will.

A door opens;
Your knaves appear.
So near to Vespers;
the end of day.
And in their eyes
I see
That they've come
to carry out
your wishes,
Majesty.