What Saint Stephen Saw
I know what Saint Stephen saw on the day he died
Late afternoon, middle of June
Shadows creeping through the dune
And all around him an angry mass
Each throwing bigger stone
Than ones before.
His mind wandered
As came the sandstone rain
To shower him with loving touch
And caress him quiet through thoughts of much
Happiness and notions of coming joy
to follow breaking of the body, divine toy.
“Why is it that we’ve come this way?”
said Stephen quietly, day running away
Rock claiming left eye, jolt of pain shaking
From bare bloody foot to sandaled twisted toes
“Solitary death was mine, not this display through which to die.”
And a young man standing off at side.
He knew the time was nigh
Unhindered eye searching the sky for sign of life
Then the final blow
Looking up, seeing nothing
A brokenhearted man turned
And told a lie about the light.
