The Last Prophet

 

( She came nameless

On a dateless day......)

I took a walk yesterday

Through the unending streets that swing away

Into the eternal chaos of urban life

Symbolic of struggle, symbolic of strife.

 

A vast multitude passed me by

Faceless faces, unseeing eyes

Weary souls that trudge along

On their weary roads to perdition.

 

Yet a bright spark I did discern

In this vast unending ocean.

Despite the grey all around me

This spot of orange was for all to see

 

A little boy of seven perhaps,

Suited in rags, booted in straps

Lay wailing in utter torment

Covered with a deep black pestilence.

 

Skeletal frame and grubby hands

Lying on the pavement, covered in sand.

A pawn to the whims of his own destiny,

He lay there wearing a mask of agony.

 

Good citizens they were who passed him by,

Not heeding his wails, not hearing his cry

All kinds of people, from all walks of life.

Walking briskly on, so wonderfully alive.

 

The young and the old, the rich and the rest

Walked quietly past him, or while chatting in earnest.

They stopped not to look at him, they stopped not to care

Or if they stopped and stared at all, their hearts lay elsewhere.

 

I shall not be their judge or their jury or their executioner,

For I too but looked at him, I too did not seem to care,

While this little boy of seven perhaps, lay wailing in this empty street

Full of people although it was, in them no heart did beat.

 

But suddenly an angel came by

Who she was I’ll never know

And although no trumpet heralded her coming

An angel she was, of that I’m sure.

 

Dropping to her knees in the sand and dirt,

She clutched the boy close to her heart.

Wiping away his tears she smiled

A smile that could melt a glacial heart.

 

Awash with guilt, I fumbled for my soul

And the rest still walked heedlessly by.

In my mind I kissed her feet

But I looked again and saw her accusing eyes.

 

I saw the derision aimed towards us all

I saw the rage in her eyes, the undisguised contempt

I felt her unspoken words burn my very soul

I knew then that she was a prophet.

We sing paeans to romance, we drink the wine of love

We conquer stars for our beloved and aim still further above

Yet when we see a little boy writhing in agony

We forget the very basic principles of humanity.

 

In this angel I saw these accusations
 Levelled towards us one and all

And in her love I witnessed God’s fury

For us being enmeshed in inhumanity

 

But in her I saw the path ahead

In her I saw salvation.

For she is the one to guide us all

The last prophet of Creation.