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MIDAS By Shaun Stevenson The moon crawls higher scraping stars and space – a dull yellow glow lighting under its cold rays a garden smothered in vines and thorns and daffodils and the moon’s fingers reach a man sitting beside the bench. Wet grass soaking slowly through faded jeans and a faded sleeve the man smiles at the passersby who excitedly sit on the bench and chat – sharing pain and joy and sorrow and love and story after story after story never bothering to ask back. Not that the man would ever speak. Because a cold Hand has touched a deep place and created lifeless gold, gold, gold – all I feel is gold – and cold – and the man stares ever upward watching the waning night, knowing the One is acting as if He’s turned to Midas with trophy after trophy after loveless – dead – trophy. Shaun Stevenson, Junior, Youth Ministry Major http://multnomahmuse.com/2013/03/02/midas/#respond CLICK HERE TO COMMENT
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