LAMENT OF THE CORPSE ON HIS CROSS
•
LAMENT OF THE CORPSE ON HIS CROSS
•
Oh Father, descend now,
grant me sight, my eyes
are imperfect, they insist
on crying every night
I dream of you
as I wander through
this cathedral of steel
and floor of crushed skulls,
my legs splinter, I kneel,
my mouth shaping prayers old
and words forgotten,
I count every breath,
I wait for your wail
to split the sky,
to fall on me and
color the dawn white,
paler than the blood of saints
who gather about and weep
as they drink deep, licking
the gashes slashed across
my wrists, the saints blind,
the saints lost…
•
Oh Father I sicken of your silence.
Deliver me from this bloodless host.
My cross is made but of wood.
Your house is empty.
I am less than a ghost.
•
Ω
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