The Coming, by RS Thomas

RS Thomas

And God held in his had
A small globe. Look he said.
The son looked. Far off,
As through water, he saw
A scorched land of fierce
Colour. The light burned
There; crusted buildings
Cast their shadows: a bright
Serpent, A river
Uncoiled itself, radiant
With slime.
On a bare
Hill a bare tree saddened
The sky. many People
Held out their thin arms
To it, as though waiting
For a vanished April
To return to its crossed
Boughs. The son watched
Them. Let me go there, he said.

 

RS Thomas has a way with words; this one is interesting for how it imagines a God and Son talking imagining a time before, imagining looking down at the world and its chaos and deciding to go there.

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