This poem is a re-post from last year, in honor of the 21 Coptic martyrs who were killed by ISIS on this date in 2015.
Their faces held no fear. A solemn gaze,
Grave as the fabled majesty of kings,
Was all that greeted us, as if to say:
“We too must die; be strong, and hope all things.”
The King who stood at Pilate’s judgment seat
Arraigned with blood, looked silently as they
On evil’s triumph and its cruel deceit.
His realm’s not of this world. His are no men
Of swords and bloody shouts and conquerings:
His war is Love, to life’s own laying down.
He is immortal. He shall rise again
In every place Love’s blood was ever shed:
Love’s dead shall rise (fear not), and at their feet
The kingdom of this world shall cast its crown.