The Thief

The Thief

poems of paul -the thief black and white with tips of orange a butterfly
touches his brow, follows him up hill, it crosses
his mind, heavy this rough cut wood…in chains
against wall they talked of olden times, being taken
to the boats…this was better by far… glad to get it over …
what had life given him but anger, never
what he sought or thought he wanted.

You know truth, new truth, instant lightning
you feel maul come down, drive rectangular spike
through skin, cartilage and bone then come down
again targeting wood, such truth sears, pain lasts
an instant, till it is delivered again and then again
mounted to crossed planks, you are sail in an open boat
of sorts sailing on an open sea, the butterflies are gone
then one appears, angelic shape and shade

The man hanging next, your neighbor, you remember
from paths which crossed you wandered, great crowds
you saw surround Him, miracles, all kinds abound, you
took it with a grain of salt, some hoax…what you did you
can’t recall complete, you struck, you took, you ran too
drunk to defend yourself with caution, blinded in your
own samiel, something you had done before. Here, now
it is his voice which pierces deeper than rails in
wrists, draws and something more, “Forgive them”
No one ever asked you that before.

While crowd reviles Him on His cross, you melt,
with little breath left say some words,
confess and then to Jesus, “remember me
when you come into your Kingdom.” He
hears your plea as only God can hear and promises
what He promised no man other. “This day you
will be with me in paradise.” A joy you never
had, the butterflies this brings. At sundown when
soldiers come to break your legs
you don’t feel the sting.


Category: Poems, Uncategorized

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