by D. P. Johnson

Created on: February 20, 2009

Father, long ago the serpent whispered

You, like me turned astray

But turning is not easily reversed-

Wiping your mouth you hid.

Friend came calling.

He might have demurely looked away

Your exposure, stinging embarrassment

Caused his sorrow

He never looks away.

Cool of paradise

Traded for what?

Blood

Soaking the ground, dripping rough wood

Tortured, disfigured, pierced

Grimace of death

Blood

Incalculable value

Shed, freely given

Blood

Prepared

Before

The whisper

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