St. George
Improbably he veers and peers at us
not the dragon-demon at his feet-
the argent steed, whose sire, Pegasus,
carried the Favorito, Perseus
down the wild, airy steep.
and pledges with his sapient, little face
the Rider, the amazing savior,
mailclad form of scarcely bearable grace
trust without measure, endless faithfulness-
so shall we pledge Jesus our Redeemer.
But this dragon is not the fish of tufa
that slid heavily barnacle-implanted
out of the pearl-stuck grotte
to menace pale, golden-haired Andromeda
while the king lamented:
this is the Fiend, the Evil One, the Liar
who prowls the world plotting the souls' ruin
who blisters forever in Ghehenna-fire.
all that stirs in the night, all that conspires
for chaos, void, ineffable confusion
Feels this wound-trembles and despairs.
Content, the kings' heart breaks. Perhaps he dies.
The Cross takes root. Exquisitely it bears.
The virgin may continue with her prayers
rapt, beneath his gently lowered eyes.
poem by Morgan Michaels
Added by Poetry Lover
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