stained glass shepherd

in the silence
      and security
      of this holy place,
            i stare at
   the window where
         you are encased,
   the bright sun
             illuminating
         you
      tenderly holding
            one of your
            lambs (and
         surely, it is me),
   as you prepare
      to lead it to
         that lush pasture
      where crystal fountains
         never run dry,
   where grass never
            burns up in
      the heat of day,
         where all the
         predators are
               tricked
       by the detour
            sign at the
         bottom of the
               hill;

as i walk
      to my car, i do
      not glance back
   or else i would see
         the cracks
         in the glass
      where the world
      has hurled its
            stones;
   the sheep, limping
         and reeling
      from the violence
         they have
         experienced
      in the valleys
      of shadows;
   your torn robe,
      your scarred hands,
            your life
         pooling in
               silence
      for every
          single
          lamb.

(c) 2014 Thom M. Shuman

Thom