Forty Days And Forty Nights Poem by Chris Zachariou

The ancient war is being fought again.
The Fallen star has mustered all his legions
and the battle rages on for forty days and nights.

All the armies of the mighty kingdoms
have assembled in the desert
to proclaim to the sounds of trumpets
their allegiance to the Great King.

Thirst and hunger plague his body
and the Darkness mocks the Holy Prophet
to a feast of wine and stones.

Visions of the blessed city rise
with marble temples and cool gardens
and the Fallen spur the saint to fly
to his golden throne in Salem
in the arms of a thousand angels.

The Rabbi's virgin daughter
comes to him each night in dream—
sixteen years of sublime beauty.

She lies down in the sand dunes
with her crimson gown undone
and torments him through the night
but when the sun rises each dawn
where the lustful vision lay
a viper hisses, spits and slithers away.

The Man falls down on his bended knees
and lifts his head up to the sky and cries
"Your will is done my Lord and King"