Preacher in the Marketsquare

by practicalspactical

Out there In the Marketsquare, Red face flustered:
God’s Word, Anger, Secret signs, Tales of Zion,
Lonely, Dirty, Stone’s target; Shunned and Hated,
Still the Preacher stands. 

Where is your hilltop fastness, Israel’s sons?
Ruined abject meager hearts, stained with corpse ash,
Poor and exiled in a land you know not,
Huddled in shadows.

Can you repair the broken shattered vessels?
Can one lone man praying restore God’s garden?
Black figures on a white field will not alight
the path of unceasing.