After Isaiah 1
The red, gold,
and brown
a disguise, a
preparation
and announcement
of the fall
of the oak in
the garden
unwatered,
parched, prepared
to shed its life
and thrust
stark limbs in
supplication
to the sky,
gnarled hands
grasping for the
life dying
below the
ground.
The leaves
descend into mounds
of tinder, ready
for a spark,
any spark, of
any type or kind
or source, to
begin the consumption
to start a fire,
predicted
but long denied.
Eager voices:
what do we do
tell us
And the prophet
smiled
in anticipation:
don’t do wrong
do right – you can learn this
desire and search for justice
you can embrace this
encourage the downtrodden
you can ease their chains, their pains
defend the orphan
who has no defense
plead for the widow
without an advocate
Voices, no
longer eager:
muttering
scoffing
rejecting
moving away in a cloud of murmurs
Photograph by Petr Kratochvil via Public
Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
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