Gargoyles in the tapestry, outcasts that would mimic me and me in looking into me look on this scene quite quizzically and look back to that which follows me, that ministry that ministers to misers and their hoards of misery.

There’s no harmony,
Jerusalem’s deserted me,
I am the gargoyle in the tapestry
drenched in awful history.

The hands of time have painted me in
faint lines
fading rapidly.
The gargoyles gargle noisily and
spit me out for all to see.

© 2015, John Smallshaw.