Tuesday Poem: "Silent Night "

They told him he was an orphan,

to be swept, like so much dirt,

under the Empire’s carpet.

He had further to go than the Israelites

to be delivered into slavery.

The men of God would make an honest man of him.

This was not an attitude of prayer

as he knelt naked outside Brother X’s room.

This was no crucifix

he was made to clasp in the dark.

This was no blessed communion

he was forced to receive on his tongue.

This Judas betrayed him with more than a kiss.

Forty years he has carried his cross,

hoping for a resurrection of the truth.

“Silent night, unholy night,” we all sang

and then,

like God,

we were strangely silent.

The poet wishes to acknowledge The Press in whose pages this poem appeared.