Blake clasps the violinist’s hand

For the NaPoWriMo prompt.

Blake clasps the violinist’s hand

His mother named him ‘The Jew’
so he would never forget,
so no one would ever doubt.

She named him for a sword,
burning bright in the darkness
of the rough, unabashed beast,
that crept down the centuries,
deepening to vile black.

Rootless, he still flowered
in the man-fashioned world
when bigotry and prejudice slid insidiously,
in the corner of the eye,
the twitching of curtains,
to hatred and the ultimate horror.

As putrescence gnawed the heart of humanity,
he drew his bow of burning gold,
wanderer, he soared on wings of song,
until he saw the clouds unfold, Jerusalem rebuilt.

In Berlin, this arrow-flight ended,
as it did for so many before,
but this time, in a blaze of glory.