Our betraying places... Bitter cups, ever draining,
Prayerless saints, ever sleeping,
Clattering silver coins, ever echoing,
Weeping penitents, ever supplicating.
Holy hands and dirty feet,
The breast of the Divine, saints blissful sleep,
Dipping the cup, kissing the cheek,
Slicing the ear, rooster’s forming the meek.
Broken bread, poured out wine,
Singing voices, last whispered pleadings,
Priestly prayers and dead men’s guts, bleeding.
Penetrating glance...from all knowing face,
Risings and fallings from shunned grace;
Too many words, from us, have been spoken,
Yet, angels still visit...these betraying places,
Always healed...but ever broken.
-Eric Blauer (4.09.09)
Picture by Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, (29 September 1571 – 18 July 1610)
3 comments:
Great poem Eric. The cadence makes you feel the tension of the events...
Yes, the poem is heart-rending in a sorrowfully joyful sort of way. I shared it with a friend yesterday, who is Catholic, and who said he was going to take it with him to meditate on during the Holy Thursday mass. I read it once an hour yesterday after you posted it and each time God opened my eyes to see just a little deeper into its meaning. My heart was full to overflowing. Thank you for sharing your gifts with us.
I agree, this is good lyric, very thought provoking.
Love Dad
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