Wednesday 2 March 2022


It's not his Lent yet, but still...

A little man sits at a long table
Face puffy with his fight against mortality
No one comes near
All must be tested
A mighty ruler, yet scared of a handshake
or a rogue breath, veering in the wrong direction.

So powerful, so great, his rule obeyed
So shrunken, so faded, so scared.

"I am almighty," he says, "or maybe I am just Herod, to be eaten from inside. "

Filling others' skies with manifest threat
While his own air is filled with one invisible.

Was that a speck of death?
Or just a particle of dust?

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