Fallen Men
Earthquake
wakes the hungry hallowed ground,
and in its wake
a crack of fractured black
devours this mass of grave-grown men,
brazen sandals and all.
The wounded lips of earth close on a dirge of
dust to dust.
Then fire falls upon the
censored censers of the unruly host.
Holy smoke!
The curse rehearsed again,
and again and again…
ashes to ashes.
The seeds for this poem dropped into my lap late last night as I was
reading a fantasy novel by Jeffery Overstreet. I had no paper handy and had to
scribble my inspiration onto the back of my husband’s business cards. Then, lo
and behold, the story of Korah’s rebellion in Numbers 16 made a cameo appearance in this
morning’s sermon. Go figure. Perhaps this poem was Meant To Be.
The Death of Korah, Dathan and Abiram by Gustave Dore
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