I was hated, because He favored me
Deeply despised for being the chosen
No kind words had they for me,
All on account of my Robe of Grace
They hated even more violently,
When I told of my dream
That I would stand, and eleven would bow
As once again it was told to their face
With hatred my robe, torn from me
Doused in the blood of a slaughtered goat
Evidence proffered, the mark of an aborted life
A father’s broken heart, a lover’s bludgeoned spirit
Stripped and sold off a slave
Bodily bruised, physically battered
Bartered to the highest bidder
The price of a soul discarded as dung
In captivity was laid captive
By the wiles of she who lusted
And once and again cast aside
On account of that which set me apart
Now and again in hellish hole, shackled and bound
The screaming in my soul: When will this agony end?
Yet and again, amidst filth and foul
Dream revived in the dark of the night
While voices without, taunted and jeered
Deep within the light brightly burned,
Living witness defying containment
Refusing to die, my dream would not let me be
Light at the end of the tunnel, Illumed but once again suddenly dimmed
For a hundred score, and a hundred and thirty days
Till by a dream once again summoned
Cupbearer's prompting, Pharaoh’s command
My heart divined its time had come
Dreamt of, spoken and now approaching fulfilled
From Promise to Pit, Pit to Potiphar
Potiphar to Prison, Prison to Palace
The prophecy fulfilled.
The eleven bowed…
© AdePero Mettabel, Jan 31st 2013
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