The Stone-Thrower

8 Jun

A caster of stones,
I hurled with the best,
a shower of rightness that bit the soft flesh
and punished the rest
of those who were wrong;

my throng of support
proved I was not alone;
this caster of stones
was delighted to test out his truths
through the bruised and
the broken,
those who had misspoken,
or drifted along
in perpetual wrong
that I righted with stones and my judgments.

A caster of stones,
or, at least, a stand-byer,
who watched as the firestorms
burned flesh after flesh —
and turned all those to ashes
that thrashed and were left —
those charred gnash-ed souls —
the tolls of bereftness and sin misbegotten —
who would all be forgotten —
and sifted by Death.

I stood reaffirming all I had learned and
had hidden just ‘neath my tightly wound soul-skin,
that erupted like pustules when I knew
that the right rules had been
blatantly challenged,
whom I dutifully scavenged
and ridded so rightfully so;
and I know as He hears me,
my pleas will all e’er be
He blesses the stones that I throw;

As those hurled by the psalmist
at that philistinian giant,
I may continue to triumph for the rightest of rights;
and there be no remands
as I champion commandments
and seek to demand the cleansing forth wit:
all who err shall be found out;
and with lasting loud shout I hurl the last stone —
this caster, alone — the judge of the morally unfit.

John 8: 1 – 11


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