On Good Friday: “Gabriel Came on a Friday” [a poem]


I

Pierced
Not of flesh nor will of man
But of heart by will of Him
Walking weary and steering stares
Casting glances and lots to those who do
Whispers spoken from around
Make silent the shouts cast from within
And above

Because deep within a shot was cast and burrowed in the bow
The fine line of ecstasy and horror homoousion‘d among
And within
For obedience was found on worthy lips, blessing bestowed for ages come
And this joy was found as a bell in the mist
Meaning: it was not

Until the rocks came.

The first one came through the bedroom blinds
The curtain sheer with lustful inviting
A song was sung that day; a song of joy
And yet the muses silent fell, and draped themselves in ash

Songs abounded and wrongs abided, and the Ladies still wore black
Lips were curled and laughs were made, yet the Prophets wept their tears
For as the being was in its becoming, the echoes and wonders and questions
Finally took contour and began to take shape and started to grow and found its home
And it had weight. Oh, such great and mighty weight it had!

Atlas could not bear this Womb of death. The actualization of every pain and suffering

But it was done
The Tree of Life intertwined with Death
Grew in the Second Eden, dripping with its fruit of galling sweetness
The poison coursed through veins, making drunk

It was conceived
No serpent was found but shame would be known
Between the notes of eternal song, the weight of blessing on shoulders young
A compliant rape of sorts, met with tears and song
He came

And it was born(e)
With this redemption came a life of pain tears doubt and blessing-curse
Intimacy never known with that which was so Intimate
The Soul’s Home resting in the body of the pierced, obedient one.

For she was home for her Home, and so loneliness was hers.

Fingers clutch bedsheets knuckle-white
Release gives blood to digits numb
The first breath in minutes graces lips
Eyes open wet against the ceiling above
Throat and soul still sore from magnifying Eternity
The ecstasy has passed

Past and future wed in that moment, and consummation was known
Still months away from her ears being stung by the song if looséd tongue
Yet something in her already knows the quiet truth of this Friday, and her life to come:

“A sword will pierce your heart.”

Indeed.

The tears of joy still sting.

[read my other Holy Day poetry here]
all writings licensed: Creative Commons License

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