The One Who Leads Me Poem by Joseph S. Josephides

The one who leads me holds a lantern in the night,
makes no speech, is crippled by stone of Pharisee
when bowed to cure a wounded man in the street.
In the neighbourhood preaches love, learns tango,
his only healthy lung gasps whenever he runs
from faithful folks to unfaithful, by tram or by bus.

The one who leads me avoids rings with diamonds
prefers a wooden cross, an apartment not a palace,
a blessing by the people, then promptly embraces
children of Dawn Syndrome, the deformed person,
never criticizing the degenerate who tend to God;
at Last Supper washes the feet of young criminals
and protects with natives the life of Amazon River.

The one who leads me doesn’t wear royal clothes
he is but a flower, a beauty, outside and inside,
he seizes stars with his hands, like St. Hilarion,
when entreats rain comes, harvest for the youth.

I’ll accompany him in the night, then both as priests
we shall feed the homeless, even yourself, atheist:
for us you are good, for the benefit you plan to do.
I’m going to replace paralytics and beg for them
to fill with that contributions their empty store;
a stone bears roots and flower, if you believe it.

I follow him, as a child fearless of dark, so I reach
the Gate, that those fearing the light cannot reach.



© JosephJosephides