Sunday, April 24, 2011

Day 47, Sonnet 47

Awake! Let dawn’s new light proclaim His life

And so, in turn, proclaim our lives as well.

Let faith and hope o’ertake this pain and strife

And strike down death itself with death’s own knell.

Each morning will a Resurrection be;

When sleepy eyes wash nightmares from their view,

When hardened hearts bloom in serenity,

When deep forgiveness bids hatred adieu.

For love transcends all colour, faith, and creed

And new beginnings are each human’s right

For love of God does Church and State exceed

For saintly love is mercy ‘midst our plight.

Though it is finished[1], let this end begin

A life where holy love resides within.

[1] John 19:30

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Day 46, Sonnet 46

An Alleluia sounds into the night

As souls stand vigil past the dusky hour.

The Lumen Christi does each heart ignite

With Resurrection’s overwhelming power.

For in the night where fear entombs the mind

The prospect of awaking to new days

Can shroud His hope and leave poor souls resigned

To living death: to melancholy’s maze.

Let Kyrie be whispered in the dark

When frightened spirits fear their Saviour’s death;

Let Gloria be Hope’s enduring spark;

Let faith alone provide restoring breath.

When purple veils of Passiontide descend

Our Vigil’s flame will inky night transcend.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Day 45, Sonnet 45

A crown of thorns encircles every head

Who bravely bears their crosses on this earth

Who as their souls’ own captors are self-led

In Justice’ name to undergo rebirth.

For Jesus’ Passion teaches us to bear

With holy strength the sorrows of this life:

To let our faith each bleeding wound repair,

To learn the value of a sacrifice.

For with each step we make on our own Ways of Grief

The Blessed Feet have cleared the path before.

Emerging from the throngs to bring relief,

He fights in our name our sorrows' war.

Let spirits not by selves be crucified;

Let gratitude for Life be Mercy’s guide.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Day 44, Sonnet 44

Communion is not bread nor wine alone;

It is the meeting of like minds and hearts.

It is a sacred bond of hearth and home

Where unity is made from dis’parate parts.

It is to offer freely one’s own flesh

And love in generosity at Jesus’ table

To soothe another’s wounds, to offer rest,

To be forsworn in trust ‘gainst cruel betrayal.

For every supper could be supper last,

When slings and arrows threaten our brief lives.

By Jesus’ spirit we are over-passed:

In bonded love, community survives.

In remembrance of each other, let us pray;

And through Communion praise this maundy day.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Day 43, Sonnet 43

We fragile souls pursue dramatic life

With tragedy enacted on our stage

Where trivial pursuits transform to strife

And loss accumulates with passing age.

But drama does consist of livéd days

Where sorrow does enclose in time and space

To make out shadows in this human haze

Where gravitas does gentle hope replace.

But peace and love do transcend minds and bones

And open into Heaven’s wide expanse

Where e’en joy sparks fear of the unknown

And peace leaves mortal mind entranced.

Fear not Communion’s limitless embrace

For boundlessness is holy saving grace.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Day 42, Sonnet 42

A child’s innocence may be destroyed

By other persons’ acts of cruelty,

By careless words that open gaping voids,

Or violence that leaves psychic debris.

But losses, too, can mar a child’s world

As tiny hands contain such helplessness

And sorrow’s tendrils ‘round a heart is curled

As days of joy become days of distress.

But tender hearts can heal as years go by

As wisdom is the gift of passing time

So too, can one’s forgiveness sanctify

The grief from death, or shame from thoughtless crime.

In ancient sorrow, youth’s wonder still resides:

Let agéd hearts still bless the child inside.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Day 41, Sonnet 41

To Lethe wharf do take me, lovèd one,
And drown me in that foggy-water depth.
You’ll know, my love, when your sweet deed is done
For lack of bubbles means a lack of breath.
I’ve supped and supped from old Mnemosyne
And ne’er can dry her dampness from my brain;
So thus I hear brave Lethe calling me
To plunge into forgetfulness again.
So dip me into the ambrosian blue
And fear not when the blankness taints my face
For ‘tis an anesthetic that seeps through
To numb the bruisèd mind with utmost grace.
So though you to a death do bear me forth
You bring me life again at Lethe’s wharf.

[This is a sonnet I wrote nearly three years ago, but it aptly summarizes the soul-ache that plagues my soul at times, and I could not have re-written it any better.]