The Belief

This gentle Jew
This docile flower
Sprung from the wailing  desert walls
of age old Jerusalem.

This man so maimed
Blossoming blood
Into miraculous beliefs.

Galilean... Nazarene.
Urging us on
To peace
Through purgation
The catharsis
Of blood.

His Father's business
Needed handling
Upon rough hewn Cross
His death bed he bore
And straddling an entire world
He stood watch
Through the dim darkling hours.

And forevermore fostered
Tales and parables of
His glory.

To fascinate little lives
Such as ours
Titillating us
With walks upon water
And water turning into wine.

The point being

We still needed
Proof
Before
We could learn
To wonder.

I believe
I believe
Miracles are not
Providence
Nor endorsed by
Mankind.

I believe that
Faith
Is the product
Of Goodness
And the horrid sordid price
It pays.

May your phoenix
Forever soar
Forevermore upon the ashes
Of humans
Immortalized by their belief
In Divinity.

Ardent, steadfast,
Derivative.

(c) Amrita Valan 2017