unstoppable force, meet immovable object

(a sonnet of Deborah) 

Emma McCoy 

I’m a God-given mouthpiece: a prophet. 
They call me a judge, I can do that too, 
watch the war-hungry men who would profit 
from God’s wisdom, falter, in my news-room. 
I was shocked, call me a maybe-quitter 
when he came in, brawn-bared, and asked for me 
I thought, what, you need a babysitter? 
God has not hidden me, my mysteries. 
He lays them all in lines like graveyard rows 
and so I see from the hills, in visions, 
a woman with a bloody stake who knows 
a ground-teeth promise and God’s precision. 
Human pride and fear tend to intermix, 
I don’t care for your death-bound politics.