I:
Did he know,
gazing within
the first morning’s
reflection of the mirror?

The world was ruled with rapacious greed.
Could he...a simple carpenter’s son hold reign?
Rivaling concepts of malice and hate
with only a vision of righteousness.

What might have been if faith had turned
that one lonely night, praying in the garden?
All we now treasure and know
not lost... simply never learned.

But his belief held fast.
Even as the nails pierced his waiting wrists,
and the breath was filched from offered breast.
His tendered flesh drained of life's essence.

And the world’s foundation shook
from this one man’s belief.
“Most cherished of all ‘The Father’s’ gifts, is Love".
"Love even your enemy...your own butchers.”

Perhaps he knew from the mirror’s silent stare.
But I think not.

II:
Did he know, gazing within
the morning’s first reflection of the mirror?

This man condemned God‘s chosen few.
****** them with imperfect ideals of superiority.
Hegemonies, spawned from purely selfish desire.
Built upon altars of blackened bone,
stained with the purified  blood of unnamed martyrs.

Animating his belief with the potency of his voice
and the putrid breath from chambers of death.
His dream blossomed from a nightmare‘s blackened shade.
Millions died as millions more bewailed their loss.

And the world turned once again.
Its very bedrock forever tarnished red.
For this one man’s beliefs were embraced
within vows thought sacred by the masses.

Never again quite the same.
Just one man’s pronouncement of a claimed truth.
“All the problems of the world lie at the feet of the Jews.
Destroy them and all life’s trials will be resolved.”

Perhaps he knew from the mirror’s silent stare.
But I think not.

III:
Should I know, gazing within
the first morning’s reflection of the mirror?

Our world cries for one man’s envisioning truth.
We search to understand the differences,
and to find the similarities amongst us,
before a tired Earth exhales one final breath.

An angel of mercy, hope, and salvation.
Or a demon seeking power,
returning only horror and death.

Fate beckons with a satirical, crooking finger
as the seeking ignorant masses swarm to hopeful honey.

Whose voice will it be rising from the wilderness?
Will it usher in a bright dawning, new day?
Or bring upon us tomorrows
which we wish would never be?
Will it be you, or will it be I?

Perhaps I should know from the mirror’s silent stare.
But I think not...

Fate shrouds Destiny within a dark veil...
blinding clear vision.
All that remains is Belief,
a clouded hope for possibilities.

© S.Loeding
All Rights Reserved