December 12, 1977
9:15 p.m. 
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
Harbingers of Pain
The cross of gold, pinning him hurting, strapped across his back Insincere throngs bleating like sheep Not his sheep Although their unintelligible gibberish Betrays their former calling And no one knows his name anymore He lives for pain forgiving his captors With a tear in his eye. Two thousand years later The same bleating sheep Cannot comprehend their state Cannot understand what has happened He prophesied peace. And they wasted peace Attending church on Sunday Praying that all would be well I would not be surprised if he laughs at them now.
copyright 1999-2004 by Michael F. Nyiri
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