Could my gaze, like His,
Reveal perfect agape?
Not yet, so I pray.

As the Panic Sets In

I fall
Into a pit.
In which I sit
And call.

But no one hears.
So I lie there in emptiness
Alone to wonder and to guess
With just my fears.

Which rule my mind
As sadly, I attempt to pray
That others may look here one day
What will they find?

Or, when?
Will I lay here
A week? A year?
Amen

Torn Asunder

Inside the Holy of Holies, a veil lies on the ground.
Inside the hollowed-out earth, He lies without a sound.
The veil was torn in two before it fell upon the floor
His body, torn apart, was brought down when he breathed no more.

Soon the curtain will be moved, a new one in it’s place.
His body too, will not be found in this cold, empty space.
And yet, despite their simultan’eous tragic fall
They represent opposing truths; and one: no truth at all.

For Jesus’ "missing" body means more than an empty tomb
While a new curtain still will simply hide an empty room.
The open doorway now revealed the emptiness inside
The ark was gone, replaced not with the law, but pious pride.

The sacrifices, valid still, were made by two-faced men.
With Sacrifice of Priest and Victim, they need not be made again.
Thus, while the new veil will seem like the old (it would appear).
His body, Glorified, will breathe upon them, “Do not fear.”

On My Return From A Papal Mass

I made it home, with feet so sore
You may ask what I did this for
And I'll reply "You can not know
If you say you would not, too, go."

It mattered not what was the wait
Before I fin'lly crossed that gate
And stumbled down that last, long block
My tired legs almost in shock.

Communion, ("Only" spiritual)
Still made my soul feel ever-full
And then: a joyful sense of hope:
A final blessing from the pope.