You hold my attention
with both hands
as if cradling a cup
brimful,
careful
not to let my eye contact spill.
but the drone of your magpiety
begins to seep into my sense,
mentally I begin to fold,
an origami defence
fashioned quickly to
a blank prayer book.
Our beliefs are enemies
who have never met,
despised images never seen,
dogma unheard.
but my paper creases
become sword cuts
to your fumbling fingers,
my angular points
spears for stabbing your
feverish eyes
thus as paper folded tight
I am defended
albeit blank,
speechless.
© Graham Sherwood 02/2016
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