The Pilgrimage: Part 34 / Phillip Neal Tippin

You thought the whole thing through, and
When you left, left it shot-riddled through,
A bit less whole, less from the holes
Than for want of you.

I’m tired of the time that bides,
Tired of the time that lies in wait,
The time that leads from Goliath to Uriah—
That grace and bane in the way of the saints.

What kind of love
Would make this
Look like hate?

You did not feed before the hunger pain,
Desiccating on the desert plain, they’ll
Feel the pangs before they stumble, guess
Humble wants the children to look and ask—
Where is the sacrifice, Father,
The stone or snake when I ask?

All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2020-2021 by Phillip Neal Tippin. All rights reserved.

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