The Feast
by Sean Taylor

While the gown is quite lovely
And the pearls shine brighter
Than any star ever dreamed,
My mind is burdened.

Was it not just minutes ago
My clothes were ragged
And spoiled completely
With whoring's filth?

Chasing fleeting lovers,
Trading what was yours
For the beds of others?
Fleeing Love's call?

And was it not moments ago,
Fainted in a dingy alley,
That you gently lifted my face
And kissed me?

Through layers of dirt,
Stained deeply in my soul,
Your hands brushed aside
All of my filth.

And, tearing from your own gown,
Did you you not dress wounds
Earned from an unfaithful heart,
Healing my pain?

Your arms lifted me
High into the vast dreams
I could not have imagined.
How could you,

Knowing with each painful step
Every encounter I sought,
Every bed I had known,
And my desires for them?

Did you not even once wish
To leave me in my reward
So fervently sought,
Alone, broken, in death's grip?

But with each step
Gaining closer to home,
Until finally, doors swinging,
You laid me on your bed

And summoned your servants,
Bring now a new gown
Fitting for her beauty,
Leaving me to change.

And now, stepping downwards,
Moving to the feast,
I can hear servants cheering,
Loving a wandering bride.

Such a celebration
For a bride such as I,
Surely you can love
An unfaithful bride.

But in this eternity
All has been forgotten,
And I can see your face,
Smiling upon our wedding feast.

©1991 Sean Taylor