The Final Supplication
The ground beneath me is dark and unrelenting,
As I fall to my knees, desperate for some answers.
I'm cold and hungry and haven't slept in weeks.
All around I see emptiness and isolation.
All that I knew before has been ripped away from me.
In what seemed like mere milliseconds, I'm totally bereft.
The white cloth on my body now fragile in disaster's wake.
Why did the joy leave?
What price have we paid for our pride?
I look to you, O Divine One, for the relief that I seek.
All of my family and friends have departed and I am lost.
It's getting dark now and there is a soldier's rifle pointing towards my back.
If I so much as even flinch, I will be dead.
Even if I do survive, where will I sleep?
What will I eat?
There may be silence now, but what about tomorrow?
How will be able to close my eyes without hearing the sonic assault of gunfire?
The soldier behind me edges forward, keen for more prey.
I can hear his footsteps, the crunch of gravel beneath his boots,
Growing louder as he moves.
I know you are there, My Lord, but can you hear me?
Can you see what is happening?
This is my final supplication - please hear my cry.
(C) NZ 2009.
Comments
This poem was yet another
This poem was yet another reaction to the Artland Gallery exhibition I've attended on a few occasions (see other related pieces for further details) and was centred around a photograph of a man on his knees with his back to the camera around dusk.
He had his hands raised in the air , as if deep in prayer, almost as if this moment was his very last one. I tried my very best to capture this image on the page. I hope that I succeeded.