You died
You died for my sins
committed in the inns
of prostrating limbs.
& blood spills
from your side
like a kite
a death in sight
& a warrior’s hindsight
The unending grue
of a sky, blue
preached on a pew–
& the screw
tight
On the cross of Calvary
The knowledge of an apothecary
a weight you carry
for my sins on a parry.
Your blood, pink,
a flowing pint
& a sorrowed tint
to wash away my stint
You died
Now I can have life
Because life is a pie
Of a sweet nigh
To console the cry
A sinner like me
Worthy not to stand before thee
To make a plea
Or awash in glee
I hereby make a recompense
a prayer devoid of sense
a prayer that pierce
through your veil
Here I am, undeterred
on the coal tarred
ground, head bowed
bowed before a guard
Mary, white and bright
came in tears that night
Your body a blight
of many unresolved, wounded fight
You died
on a beautiful Friday
I came that day
to make a pay
to seek atonement for the days
I lay in prostrating limbs
with many layers of sins
uncovered and dotted like pins
in stilted mountainous inns
A beautiful sight
of a flowing, nostalgic kite
wavering and trembling like my plight
Those days were tight–
A childhood,
reminiscent of my priesthood
made prominent in the hood.
Days I wasn’t in the mood
to take a look at the pink
blood oozing from the silk
of the many maidens’ unclothed guilt
a sin to be placed in gilt.
You died
blood in there
in the bare
streak in your pair
of hands, like the ears of a skittering deer
Like two unconsumated lovers lying
under the moonless sky in an inn
the sky a cloudless, sprawling
blue, a merge of white and pink.
Leave it there
by your tomb, here
a white veil & the body of a hare
I am lying bare
before this tomb, seeking atonement
a solemn endearment
from the inner circle of my ferment
heart, a confluence of penance and abandonment
I am standing, looking at the sky, blue
You married to the cross, a grue.
A message I– a priest and pastors preach on the pew
Of the soon departing clouds and the accompanying dew
You died
On the cross is a veil
wrapped around your waist, torn at 3, a death
mysterious, your hands flail
& weak hackneyed to a tight screw unpaired.
Unbarred, unflinching, unmoving; the angels arrived
on the tomb stones paved
way for your body, unstained
unstinted, unencumbered, moved
to heaven. The angers a choir
In my heart a raging fire
of unquenchable hope & trust on your flight.
your departure carrying my prayer high–
answered, lifted off my chest.
You are in heaven now to make a request
I’m here on earth waiting for a sign, a pest—
Something to dot the blue sky, my prayer made by a zestful heart.
Has been answered.
I am waiting, I’ll wait, I have waited.
Nothing.
