The Feast of Stephen

Boxing day is also called "the feast of Stephen", after the death of Stephen by stoning. Here is a poem about it...

The Feast of Stephen

It was a hot day, the dust rising in the air,
The sun so bright, so sharp the glare;
And the face of the man, standing now:
Can't he see the crowd? Their one avow?
Men take off their robes, strip to the waist;
Clothes cannot be soiled, or so debased,
And this will be a day of wrath, of fire;
I see the anger, their fury, all their desire,
And the sweat trickles down their back,
As they lift stones, stumble on their track'
They cry out, baying for blood this day,
And the young man still goads, still to say:
Talks of stiff necked people, deaf with pride;
Can he see that there is no place to hide?
The face of an angel, some said of him,
But the mob is enraged, such faces grim;
And I just minded their clothes, sat there,
I too was angry, and I did not care;
And I let them stone him, heard the thud,
As stones rained down, an unleashed flood
Of fury; heard groans of pain, then no more;
It was as if he slept, opened heaven's door,
And the stones still hit him, piling high,
But his breath long departed with a sigh;
And why should I recall him, now long ago,
A man I barely had seen, and didn't know?
Called Stephen, so I was told, in later time,
And I sat and did nothing, my only crime:
Thinking the time of prophets is long past,
Until on a dusty road, I saw a light, at last.

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