Judy C. Meeker
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My Lord they made this earth

a god market glutted, and heaven

crammed with phantoms-

They have marked you as a baranian-

after you, with bursting heart

had offered up the blood of your only child.

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My soul cries out for peace

my body for rapture.

I am a hand maiden in a wasted land

without food, without water

for my seed.

My tongue cries with hunger and with thirst-

My Lord your warm white manna, I crave

and will not drink from another.

Fill my body with the holy burst of your immortality-

please don't leave me to die in my human weakness.

I shall turn to look at you abruptly from a glass display

of my image under stained glass beneath a lamp- and

I will stare at you with the serious madness of some

thin faced and starving animal that is rapt with

poetic vision and with hunger...

 

Judy C. Meeker Author