Written in respose to 'The Garden' by John W. **** on hellopoetry.
Paradise is lost
Who can restore it's splendour?
Who is worthy?
In frantic despair he stared
A myriad faces stared back
No muscle flinched
No eyelid flickered
Like the silence before the scream
Eyes fought to make out
Even the tiniest of movements
Despite the massed numbers
Above, below and all around
The stillness was gigantic
And he knew then, the end of hope
The final appeal had been dismissed
And cold horror wrung out the air
Until the grainy finger of an old man
Pointed, resolutely to the right.
To a lion whose muscular frame
bore a victor's wreath of torn briars;
whose eyes spoke judgement and mercy.
'Ecce homo' declared the old man.