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Saturday, November 25, 2017

Simeon stylites

Simeon stylites

fiction
edward w pritchard

I wrote a poem, I whistled a prayer,  gave away possessions,  chanted endless recantations

suffered calumny sloughing off detraction, loving and cherishing accusers, proclaiming loss of  name and reputation, foregoing justice and restitution humbly

practiced good deeds, walking the elderly, bowing to children, tending to babies

accepted probability, endured inevitability, rehearsed mortality

three times walking around the earth alone, sins absolved, lies of convenience receipted

Standing stooped on a pillar, bowing endlessly from the waist, exiled from human community

in dreams, standing on a pillar in Syria, waiting

Wake softly Syria

Wake softly Syria

fiction
edward w pritchard

Wake softly Syria,
the sun has risen bringing morning breezes to soothe your sorrows.

Look to the horizon Damascus ancient Mother city.
Streaks of gold light entice you, awake; stir again Mother Damascus arouse your children
to productive activity.

Up and about to the souk hearty Aleppo.
Send men to trade and build.
Daylight is upon us Halab, greet foreign traders in the marketplaces.

Whisper in Aramaic humble Ma'aloula, tell the nations what comes next.

Joy and create sleepy Ras Shamrah, out to Ugarit to remind the world who taught them to write.

Awake sleeping Syria, ancient land. Your friends far away bid you reclaim your destiny.

Wake softly Syria.



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