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THE MAN ©

Stephen Morris
Herault, France
2007

Turning
Blood to water
Gold to lead
Wine to tears
Gave him
A kind of
Mystical
Quality
A few bowed heads
Here and there
Some knelt
Others prayed
My role
Was less important
The dry eyed
Cynic
Uncompromising
Believing little
Questioning
Everything
It all changed
Though
For he told
Good stories
Talked of peace
Levitated a little
And walked on water
It was then
I really began
To take notice
As tricks
Turned
To miracles
Hungry masses
Were fed
The dying
Brought to life
A blind man
Saw a sunset
Cripples walked
Disease-ridden
Bodies
Began to dance
But what really
Swung it
For me at least
Was the promise
Of immortality
Safe in a paradise
Fit for poets
In addition
Just next door
A harem of whores
And a bar
Stretching across the sky



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