6. WatchmanWhile galaxies are all yours to commandMore Like This
You spend your days beside me without cease,
And nights are never lonely, for you stand
A watchman in the darkness, bringing peace.
Your universe of glories is untouched
Compared to what the human mind may know,
And yet in all its splendor, light, and such,
It's less to you than I, and how I grow.
The proof of this is seen in your release
Of all of Heaven's glory for a birth
And life and death among us--we the least,
Of all deserving of your gaze. This earth
Has seen you die and live again for grace,
And all there is of love is in your face.
Lent 4- BloodI spend my days bathed in crimson,More Like This
and the scarlet covers my stains.
Blood can drown a multitude of sins.
The drops fall from my fingertips
and bloom as lilies in the parched dust.
I am the colour of the setting sun.
This is the blood of Man, the blood of God.
It washes away the slaughtered bull,
bears away holocausts in its torrential flood.
It is the blood of the living, yours and mine,
spilled from the veins of the unborn and the ancient,
all who have been and will be.
We are the children of blood,
richer than wine, sang real,
dyed ruby, the colour of life.
Perfect ContritionIn a proper Catholic church, everything echoes. Any sound uttered within the building bounces of the floor and the walls and the high, vaulted ceilings, so much so that I imagine that they could easily reach the ears of God himself. It's a rather poetic thought, the voices of mere mortals ringing towards Heaven with the help of good acoustics, but that thought's tempered by the fact that it includes every single noise: the coughs of emphysemic old men, the rustling of an impatient young girl's dress, and the taps of even the softest rubber-soled sneakers are no exception. On rainy days like this one, those shoes tend to squeak, which probably hurts God's ears as much as it does mine. If I didn't feel like I had to be here today, the noise would be enough to drive me out the heavy double doors.More Like This
I didn't make it in time for Massand I honestly wasn't in a rush for it anywayso the church is mostly empty save for the few waiting in line for the confessional. This church h
Blood of LoveBlood of LoveMore Like This
Her voice flowed like wind,
Brushing against my cheeks,
Whistling in the corridors of my ears.
A weight burdened upon my heart,
Yet my soul was at ease.
A dense feeling coursed through me,
Affecting my physical being,
As eyes shut,
And streams of frost flowed down my spine.
My breath was held,
As I focused on the lithe sounds,
That came from her thin lips.
They were not words to me,
But the extract which bleeds out,
A being made of love.
To me, those sounds were the blood of love.
Delicate and soothing,
Yet caused by flesh wounds,
That heal and tear,
So much, you learn to bear,
Weaving it to forms and shapes,
That inflict a painful illusionary state,
Of the same wounds that dress you.