On The Margin Of Tribulation - Poem by Gerry Legister
Once more the road beneath our feet quakes
Where marauding faith in generosity appeared
With kind words embrace enemies within our gates,
And turn that grace to strike hearts unprepared.
When storm arose and the emotions spilled over,
Find smouldering faces peering through gothic rails,
No agreement or friends can stop the seething anger
Breathing fire once concealed by pretentious walls.
When the strife first began to stumble and choke
It forbid loose tongues to tell of any pleasantries,
Quenching breath on trial when humour is not joke
Heated fumes drifted like smoke defending sentries.
False words that see god being friends of ambush
How can we see the good? Covering the fake image,
On the margin of tribulation, ablution was accomplish
And we never did understand the blabbering language.
In every frown lies the barking sound of vile terror
They look around and examine the splendour gain,
Extraordinary treasures we have in galleries galore
But their thorny vestige will never be found again.
The vows repeat hastened to their responding feet,
Choices made inner conscience rip apart this path,
Gathering troops in tight loops on the margin of defeat
And die like fools plunging into their own murky death.
That which was burned its hostile pride will never evoke
Tight girdles beyond the margin where the story lies,
Fervency burned out beneath bitter drifting smoke
Whose liberty do we enter to cross over on brighter shores?
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