Dark Emblem
By Greg Beatty
06 July 2009
As they died, ancient martyrs
let fall their heads, distinct,
and a crucifix, from fingers
released: that which they held
close clutched until their blood
leapt against gravity to God.
From our fingers, what falls,
when we new faithful fall?
Splintered, atomic, bereft of
unified field or faith:
some drop dollars, others rings.
I drop nothing. The vacuum
of space my faith's dark emblem.
(Comments on this piece | Poetry Forum | Main Forum Index | Forum Login)