Holy Saturday
Bonus post--composed Spring 2007
Burn these bloody twisted branches,
Aching, to the ground.
Memories of dreaming sleep
Were all we ever found.
If, perhaps, there is some hope
Enshadowed by your tree…
If there is, it never was
The kind of thing we see.
Love without an image true
Is never love at all,
So we struck the ground anew
And planted in the Fall.
We tried to raise a solid Oak
On which we could rely;
But every seed of each rank weed
Turned all our plans awry.
Setting ship with eager sail
Vainly to the West,
We sought to find some alter place
On which our heads could rest;
But when the prow struck stony soil
We had lost our breath:
Violence and endless toil
Rounded with a death.
Turning pages stained with hope
In tears of blood-soaked love,
We found and gave all that You had
And sacrificed a Dove.
I woke up from a nap and devoured this gem. I don't comment or even like posts as much as I should because I dislike social media and avoid engaging with it when it's optional. That said, I wanted to come out of the woodwork to tell you I enjoyed this piece much more than I expected.
Blessings.