In The Church of The Holy Sepulchre

Kneeling’s quite the thing,

that Slab is not a replica

it was bled on by a King.

 

The grovelling and the weeping

the wailing at the wall

is well within the keeping

of doing bugger all…

 

for the dead whose numbers rising

are stacked against the sea

their leaders compromising

definitions of the free.

 

Pilgrimage and worship

tourism and tat,

their thorny jagged crowns slip

at calvary’s thunderclap.

 

No miracle of deliverance

no parting of the Sea

just continued cruel indifference

to whatever there must be.