The Slaying

His end came quick, and caught him unawares.

With a grace which seldom touched him in life,

He slipped towards the earth, his final rest.

A slow relaxing, and giving up of breath,

and the slaying was complete.

How will they write his life,

this boy who ceased for righteous cause.

Inscribed on some cold Cenotaph,

that His passing was in Justice’s fierce pursuit?

Or, that turning to trade some jest,

base metal tore him from the hearts

of those who loved him best,

on this mountain side where solitude stands

and grief, one delicate moment,

found brief voice in death.