This is a poem I wrote 33 years ago in honor of Saint Lawrence, the young third century deacon and martyr of the Church of Rome, who was killed slowly by being “broiled” by the flames of a grill.
Lawrence died for his faith in Christ during the persecution of the Emperor Valerian on August 10 in the year 258 A.D. He has always been especially loved by the people of Rome to this day.
Martyr
by John Janaro
…………………………………………………………………………
A blood-red ember-glow
grows
to a fullness within my breast
as though Mars had been captured in glass,
removed from the dome of moonlit sky,
and set free below to frolic among dry sticks
at the woodland's edge.
grows
to a fullness within my breast
as though Mars had been captured in glass,
removed from the dome of moonlit sky,
and set free below to frolic among dry sticks
at the woodland's edge.
Mars, of war.
And I am flame that rises like a fountain
from a candlewick consumed
and a raging river of fragrant wax,
and my effulgence fires the eyes of those who watch
and of those who keep their distance.
In a moment I am gone,
yielding to triumphant dawn
like the pink streaks of morning's first light,
and in the wake of my radiance
ashes
to color the hand of man.
~August 10, 1990
