"Behold the Lamb...", spoke the holy hand, fingers stretched out
Beneath the stony glance of the lonely man, his wet mouth
Inches from the mutton, when in a sudden, came a-tappin
Upon the door - it was his whore.. but something happened...
"Quick! Custodian, if my favors you would savor, do not waver,
Hurry, labor to the men whose rattled sabers, battle rapiers,
Swing to gut me, for thy neighbors falsely claim I am a thief
Scurry, please- your holy speech should bless me with relief"
And as he streaked, into the night, mutton grease in his right,
She easily spied St. John's Arm, outreaching the Light,
Which she heaved in delight, to redeem her silvery prize
From a merchant with sin in his heart and deceit in his eyes...
The initiate asks...
"If none of the Saints surpassed John the Baptist
Where are the miracles he should have practiced?
"Sheriff, this indeed is the women who has bothered me
Arrest this trash, for thus trafficking in her harlotry!"
And with that, they dragged the wicked vixen in a stupor,
Betrayed, dismayed he used her, just to claim his filthy lucre...
He swaths John's Arm in the violet robes of Jesus
Then
gone!, Far off, in a silent home he ceases
His sojourns, and in a stone urn, the Relic rests,
Pressed into the roof's legs, when blessings manifest...
After a decade's test, the merchant's wealth blooms
Jealous respect grooms this new prince whose health croons
The tunes of God's shine, assumed he's God's kind,
Imbued with all signs of truth from God's mind...
The master replies...
God doesn't rely on miracles, but wisdom,
Needs no assistance, its established in His system
Lost in thought, they haunt his shop with reports of flames
Such a shock when a shrug's his response to the scorching blaze
"What a calm this man has as the city burns to ash...!
We sift in filth and trash...the Merchant's palace has no scratch.."
Envy burgeons as a heavy burden on the wealthy merchant
His enemies' empty purses steady urging stealthy searches
He's heard of a certain hermitess, who's under duress
"She'll safeguard the Arm, while I suffer the rest"
He pledged her a treasure, went and fetched her a hefty measure
This pressure to sever with the relic met her with deadly pleasure
With her door as a shield, the floor as her field, The ARM!
At last, for her vengeance, she bore it to wield...
And before he could feel,... any respite*, at his desperate try
To hide the pride of John that strived to find the Light of Precious Christ
He was arrested.. "WHY?!" They had divined what he was hiding
From the biting lips of the witch in whom he was confiding...
...but, the spinster!? he evinced his faith and she betrayed him quick!
That's correct, for the wicked pay, and must be shamed for it...
See, as years passed, her tears gashed a face left grieved
In defeat...
... ahhh... the self-same HARLOT he deceived!
Fin
*the word is pronounced "reh-spit"