by Pavel Chichikov
I visited the martyr Innocent
A seven year old child in leather sandals
Grey of flesh for eighteen hundred years
Scales of gold were sprinkled on his skin
Enamel mask, a gown of fragile silk –
The little soul could stand erect and speak
If he could tear away the gown of death
Remove the mask and shout to hear the echo
Run along the corridors and laugh
Loud enough to wake the sleeping dead
Roll a hoop of seasoned willow wood –
Wake up, the sun is yellow overhead
And there are minnows flicking in the pond
Starlings rise, a hazel wood beyond
And nothing now to do but run and play
Wake up you dead, or will you sleep all day?
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.
