The one who gave me life is dead,
The one who rose, from yeast, this bread,
The one whose thoughts had filled my head,
The one whose body, for me, once bled,
The source of life from which I sprung is dried,
The Life-force spirit; gone from inside,
My Mother, who suckled me, has died,
The chief witness for my defence has testified,
The unconditional lover of my whole,
The shameless holder of my soul,
Who plucked the embers from extinguished coal,
Is descended into sheol ,
And the starred ring of thorny crown instead,
The nail marked hands, the spring of red,
So crucified, he bowed his head,
The one who gave me life is dead.
The one who gave me life is dead
M Joseph Burt (01.06.2007)
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