the prophet grazed his tongue
on the stone walls of ancient tombs, speaking
in ripples, riddled –
while he yet walked among us
“blood shall kill no man”,
he once said, bound beneath
his righteous cape, stitched in ReD
with callused hands; eyes shifting
burnt his voice to ash,
turned blood to steel, sneering,
just to prove him wrong.
One photo, two poems… a challenge amongst friends – without peeking!
photo credits: twistedlamb.com