Whitby in the Rain

by Elias Blum

Take me back to Whitby
One morning in the rain
Sit me down beside the Abbey
Where once a fiery vein
Was drained, in olden tale
By one rejected from the pit
And forced to walk alone
Undead upon the living face
Of earth; no mercy, hope or mirth
Have they whom once the Lord of Hosts
His rage unquenched, has sent
Back to roam amongst us
Feasting upon the blood
Of unmanned woman;
But what, in this mystery,
Do I see, but pale reflections
Of blood and flesh hypocrisy
Scorning of passion
Fearful of self and soul
Refusing to believe that man
If he would but banish hatred
Could be wise, and good, and whole.
So take me back to Whitby
To the mists of ocean brine
Where, through waning night I sense
The presence of a power sublime
Long obscured by creed or custom
Half-human, but half-divine.

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