Piérre Ramon Thomas

One Second Before Midnight (11:59:59 p.m.)

by Piérre Ramon Thomas

(An Apostrophe. First published in Marymount University’s Literary Arts Magazine BlueInk 2021)
Philosophy,
I meant not such a predicament for you.
Shrouded is the face that once smiled upon a fool;
In burlap they smother you.
The knowledgeable head that fed me things better than food,
Now lying upon a guillotine;
The hands that once clothed me in the garments of scholars,
Suffer rope burns on their wrists.

Spirituality,
Never did I foresee trouble for you.
The white and gold apparel in which you were donned,
Is bunched on the ground, tattered, torn, discolored by dirt;
In iron they shackle you, your wrists and ankles,
Stretching you out like they aim to rend your appendages.
Gashes from the lashes of the whip mark your body,
Your shrieks imprint the same inside my appalled soul.

Human Nature,
Far was it from me that you would suffer such sick sorrows.
It wasn’t enough for them to starve you,
Until you were bones-pronounced gaunt,
Satisfied they weren’t keeping you in the dark, in God-forsaken solitude,
Deprived of the warmth of the sun or that of another creature;
In a cauldron of water they have set you,
And, without a modicum of sympathy, they have lit the wood.

Love, my most cherished muse of all,
How I wish you and your fellows remained unharmed from ever knowing me!
Black eyes and cut lips your beautiful face displays,
As a result from the punches and kicks they issued.
That frame of yours that once stood tall and erect, with a steel-hard spine,
Has collapsed about the pavement like a demolished building.
Over your heart the enemy has hoisted his sword,
The lip of his blade gleaming with thirst of your flesh.

God, if not for the sake of me,
For them, please, I pray:
Help me free them; 
They should not suffer on account of me.
If ever You loved me,
If ever I meant anything to You,
You would rescue them from the grip of my enemies,
And let me take their place, if necessary.