Eat
my flesh, he says,
as
if it’s a normal thing;
this
deep mystery.
Living
forever;
the
reward for believers.
Is
there something more?
The
spirit makes life,
he
told those who would listen.
The
flesh, conversely.
His
difficult words
drove
many away. Not me;
there
is no other.
The
fisherman spoke
for
us all. Your words are life:
where
else can we go?
©
Ken Rookes 2015
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