Moving Towards Death

Moving Towards Death

(A two part poem: for Easter, 2012) Part I

Blow the bones out of the hill:

I tell the dark long wind!

And the boulders bleed, resisting!

“No,” they say, “they are to stay!”

(they belong to death).

I hear the voice of death call:

“Souls grow old, you must run

before the voyage is ruined…”

I have no tongue (I remain silent)

He bellows: “Count your blessings!”

Deep in the dark bones of Death

rests—a lulling of spheres!—

and the last blessing

(this too belongs to Death).

Summer is nearly over, and

the days lack song—

more thinner are the hours…

As I sit and write this poem

(on the second day Christ lay in his tomb).

#3320 (4-7-2012)

Second Dawn

(A two part poem) Part II

Death is meek as dew:

but when he comes, he comes like a wolf!—

Lay in grace, sleep well,

as the world falls, of blood!

Now Death is a fox, he hides behind rocks:

Throw sand in his eyes,

For tomorrow Christ will rise.

#3321 (4-7-2012)