This is the final installment of my long poem.
XIV
Eight of the monks and I retreat into
the desert. Rumors of a wild band
of Berbers rampaging, spreading
terrors, stealing, slaughtering
innocents. If they come,
Christ is sufficient, I tell the brothers.
If we are killed, we will enter Heaven.
No fears.
No worries.
One day we saw the cloud of dust,
rumble heard, the thunder of
horse's hooves. The whirlwind
came out of the hills to our camp.
I told the youngest brother
only seventeen to save himself
and witness on what he sees.
Brothers, I may die here today.
I refuse to defend myself
because as Jesus said,
Those who live by the sword
will die by the sword.
In my past I spilled blood.
I am a changed man.
This is my destiny.
The Berbers, robes and capes
flying swept into the camp
like demons, swords flashing,
twirling, knives between their teeth.
Moses stood his ground,
opening his arms as if to
embrace them. The seven brothers
did the same. A Berber horseman
flew pass, reached down and
beheaded Moses. His head flew
and landed in the sand.
His body collapsed on its knees
and fell over. Jumping off their
horses they stabbed and cut
the throats of the brothers,
except the the youth.
He had hidden himself.
He wept behind some boulders.
Goodbye Moses.
Goodbye brothers.
He whispered.
Taking the few goods
the Berbers touched the encampment.
The youth watched in sorrow.
Then a great light scrolled
across the sky. Angel's wings
appeared. They looked like
specks of gold at first, but then
as they floated from the sky,
the young brother could see
seven golden crowns with jewels.
All seven came down into the
destroyed encampment of death,
the signs of a new life.
Each settled on the severed
heads of Abba Moses
the once robber the black
and the brothers. The youth
wiped his tears, smiled,
went back to Sketis,
witnessing what he saw.
Never forgetting.
Never again ungrateful.
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