Soul, self; come, poor Jackself, I do advise

You, jaded, let be; call off thoughts awhile

Elsewhere; leave comfort root-room; let joy size

At God knows when to God knows what; whose smile

’s not wrung, see you; unforeseen times rather—as skies

Between pie mountains—lights a lovely mile. – G.M. Hopkins

Sunday, April 20, 2014

First Day

Mary


I am standing in the garden
My feet damp on the grass
Waiting, watching, hoping
That my love will pass

But he is dead and in the dark
The cloths enfold his face
And I am here and all alone
Longing for his embrace

The mist mingles with my tears
My sobs echo and fade
There is a quiet in this place
But I am unafraid

I do not see him when he comes
I only hear my name
Whispered with love stronger than death
And I can live again

Easter Sunday