Wednesday, March 14, 2012

"There's only future . . ."

The Finest of Wheat

And so everything unravels
The past enters fearfully
& the quiet of doom echoes
Down the last stretch of lingering conscience
Something wicked this way comes
But the righteous gather
The vigorous bastions gain
The high ground, dissembling not
Calling out for deliverance
From the howling wastes
The devouring locusts
The last chance rodeo that was your life
Emptying the chattel pens
Freeing the captives
Sending the enslaved out into the Fields of Glory
Ask not for the morsel:
Seek the feast, the Eucharist,
The Lion’s gate.



Blogger Dee Martin said...

sometimes when knitting, a mistake is made and isn't discovered until a few rows down. The knitter has to unravel to the point the mistake occurred in order to repair the problem. Sounds like some righteous knitting going on here.

every word was glorious - poem AND song...seems like you been saving up the joy and threw it all on the paper at once.

10:29 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Amen to all, Sister Dee. There has been much joy and healing. Have a blessed day, amiga.

7:44 AM  
Blogger anno said...

Seek the feast, oh yes, amen. Love the light in this trio of pieces; glad to see you here again.

8:59 PM  
Blogger murat11 said...

Thank you, Anno. Took a helpful nudge from a friend to get me here, but it was good to get back. Some Lenten prayers (I've written two more; need to post them later), just the tip of the mountains growing these days.

5:21 AM  

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