Friday, August 28, 2009


Called to the wandering
He sees their haunted faces
Laughing, crying, lingering
And he knows their hearts are heavy
And he know they are confused
Buying wholesale in the marketplace
Any new deal that they choose
He knows they have everything to lose.

Here in the aereopagus
Of shattered dreams and ploys
Their sorrow terminates their trust
And renders songs to noise.
He’s a prophet to the pagan
And a harbinger of love
For those who dare not hope to plan
To raise their eyes above
One word may be enough.

For once he was a prisoner
Now he is set free
And he dare not cheat the listeners
Now he cannot keep his peace.
A tiller of unfertile fields
A keeper of lost sheep
A survivor who’s been truly healed
And rescued from the deep.
Now he weeps with those who weep

In the desert of the classroom
In the offices and bars
From the blight of the boardrooms
To the cults and culture wars
To the one who violates the womb
To the ones who bear the scars
In these holy halcyon days of doom
There’s a stairway to the stars
If you want see that far.

He’s a warrior and a watchman
Who dares to stand and speak
The truth in love’s his only plan
And peace is what he seeks
Now this is where his calling
Has led him now to stand
In a place where night is falling
In a dry and weary land
God’s wish is his command.

Anthony Foster
August 28, 2009

1 comment:

Larry Gott said...

O minstrel, your poemsongs just get better all the time.

And so do the word verification words: aconiten

Used in a sentence: the boxer was down for aconiten.