Brother Of Our God Poem by John a'Beckett

Sharp rocks from scraps of granite, Tatras’
tallness mean contenders for their top can
breathless barely speak.Clean streams
are cold, harsh even on your sandaled feet
and Gierwont’s peak juts out like faith:
the nearer that you get to it, just seems
the further to retreat

But take the fork in life’s divided tracks
away from wealth, prestige and painting,
dare tread the stones of doubt, the rocks
of paradox, and Brother Albert, climb.
And from this ground, build out of pine
the chapel with lamp, desk and chair:
the rudimentary room

There find your rosary beads, bed,
bible open on a passage to be read:
From those of us with talent given
to those in need of nourishment,
the message you the good man said:
that if we would be good we must
be good as humble bread.