A Tribute Poem on the Martyrdom of Joseph Smith

Joseph, Joseph, raise your throat-cry
Above burning torch and fiery eye.
You knew but an echo would reply.
When scarlet tears from weeping wounds
Gather no sympathy on the ground
The time has come to say goodbye
The time has come to say goodbye.

When there's no help for a widow's son,
Who turned back and didn't run
Away or cease what he had begun,
When time stops and friends return to bed
And loved ones have fallen dead
Your labors must be left undone.
Your labors must be left undone.

When there's no strength left to borrow
To hold the hope-song for the morrow-
Out, brief candle, no more tomorrow
The smoke-infused morning air,
An opaque veil, shrouds their stares
A curtain draws upon your sorrow
A curtain draws upon our sorrow.

The sounds of metal and wood and rage
Are swallowed in the silence of the age.
Your mouth is silenced in your cage.
Your final words have all been written
The darkness swells, the sun is smitten.
The time has come to turn the page
The time has come to turn the page.

By the window, muttered prayers and silent songs
Drift on the wind to address the wrongs
And the heart-torn longings of countless throngs
Of saints who cry for you from afar -
The lid now taken from off your jar,
Fly now; your soul to them belongs.
Fly now, your soul to them belongs.

Joseph, Joseph, raise your throat-cry
Above burning torch and fiery eye
Your life-plea spent and one last sigh
Then cast your worries to the ground,
Cast your ragged, worn frame down
And lift your soul up to the sky,
Lift your soul up to the sky.

Alexei Christopher Mattanovich
May 13, 2009