(for Kit Marlowe)
A voice calls from across the cold centuries,
a harsh whisper in my ear.
There is merit in what he says,
enduring years of indoctrination,
speaking out against that which bore him.
The town of empty palaces, of inordinate wealth,
forcing him to re-position,
to consider the advocacy of freedom,
though mere anarchy in the eyes of the state.
But wait, before you all condemn,
just as a spy must provoke and take a stance,
so a playwright may also be a player.
Does he ask, ‘what kind of world could this be?
What pure lives might we lead?’
If only we could accept the sight before us –
the corruptible body of Christ.
© copyright David Francis Barker