Nothing When Martyrdom

Oh, it is a darkness, disillusionment,

but also I am jettisoned

from poverty like gold

into the flaming zeal of the believing,

the fiery transcendence of the gods

had by the meek and lowly,

the trodden, the footpath travellers

as nakedly evident as God Himself,

as a cloud of light, an Exile, a Path,

the Mercy of tolerance, the wisdom of the kind,

the forbearing delicacy of refinement,

all of these

nothing when Martyrdom

proceeds central out of the heart,

uttered praiseworthy from lips

blue from the cold of sacrifice,

oppressed by Time, and lost

only in the love that is of all.

10/21/2016

West Vancouver

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Endless Writer © Ata Zargarof 2020

atazargarof@gmail.com

BC, Canada