Soldiers are bringing a man toward me and are tying His hands around my circumference tightly, so tightly I can feel his chest and his heartbeat upon my white cool column.
They tie His legs and feet so He cannot move about.
I feel His head and hair as His face is forced violently against me while they rudely switch Him repeatedly.
I feel His voice in vibration as He tries to control the groanings of pain from the fierce blows upon His body.
These soldiers are relentless in their torture of him almost as though they are the devil themselves.
This beaten body is beginning to hang heavily on me and if the lashings do not soon stop, they will kill him right here upon me.
My white beauty is now splattered with stripped flesh and blood.
Now I know my purpose, at least for a while,
I beheld a King and Glory touched me.
© Mel Patterson,2004
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem