bloodshot sunrise

in the midst of a bloodshot sunrise

seen through tired, bleary eyes

the mountains still echo

with His painful cries

that mingle with the wind

so much so as to find us

deaf and numb before the dawn

who beckons us with

the whispered hope

of an ancient utterance

yet shame perches

on their tear-stained shoulders

witness to the wreckage

of those scattered

with fallen countenance

unaware of the fiends and villains circling above

even as mercy silently hovers in the distance

a primeval conflict observed from beyond eternity

as she-who-has-seen-the-Master

joins mercy moving toward their side

and her witness from the garden

too wondrous for their ears

stirs a restless hope

resulting in a footrace

to the emptied tomb

our Future has come to meet us

in this evil age

while the powers cast down to earth

are filled with bitter rage

for their time is fleeting

in this now-and-not-yet age

where His sojourners

continue to flood the world

with the knowledge of the Holy

and amid such precious wonder

become merciful martyrs

who rest but a little longer

while blood remains the currency

of our violence

and such a forthright testimonial

to a perpetual and incidental blasphemy

erupting from avaricious merchants

mourning in shallow waters