Charles

another layer of snow and a
snow-white frost of a morning at
minus one, that crunchy stuff we
used to love as children, good
for sledging

today I quilt early, prayed early
when the sparkling stars were
still bright in a black sky

on this day in 1649 Charles,
King, Martyr, died for his
belief in the Church of England -
I go tonight to Eucharist
in his name, my spiritual home

how comfy my cushions, how
bright my cloth of gold, my
white marble steps and canopy,
my spiral stair, my brown robes -
daily I am there, in sanctuary,
meditating on all my woes
and the world ills:  even today
people lose their heads
for causes, for prejudices, for speech

there are still those whose minds of
adamant admit no other truths,
whose blindfolds do not
let them perceive ruth, difference,
who kill in the name of God
without understanding what
God means

the times have not changed -
we are still the same human
beings we were then
we just wear different clothes
and there are cars on our
roads instead of horses -
for all our technologies and
cleverness, for all our courses

we have not moved
from the cave and we
still live by the
shadows on the wall

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