Wednesday, November 15, 2006

the shepherd (a sonnet)

Sorry I've been off-line for the past week, but I have been travelling and haven't had access to internet. At any rate, here's a poem I just finished.

--Troy



The Shepherd
by Troy Cady

He did not roam in pastures green, but brown
and burnt terrain. He slept with stones, alone
and dry; scarred head, blood drawn; eyes drown
for want of tears for which he would atone.

And shorn, cut cold, his clothes stripped off, apiece,
askew. The cursing wind clawed at his skin.
Once clean, now soiled, his faded, thick, grayed fleece,
divided thieves and greed. And bore their sin.

And yet his voice moans low, yet strong, and bleats
and pleads and calls, “Forgive!”. And feet, now hard,
tread soft on sharp, chipped rocks. His heart still beats
yet soon will cease. His soul—in hell—is charred.

Though I can see how God became a man,
I wonder why the shepherd was the lamb.

No comments: