A Poem

Upon this cross is hammered a poem,
A limitless poem for the undead.
Upon this poem is written a lamentation,
A limitless lamenting for a sparrow fallen.
Poetry,
Where will you go from here?
What is your message?
What would you say to
“The land of Zebulun and Naphtali
On the road by the sea
Across the Jordan,
Galilee of the Gentiles?” (Mt. 4: 15)
Repent!

Repent,
To rekindle that extinguished nebula,
To rebuild those decrepit boulevards.
Or, would you sit
By the rivers of Babylon
To weep and mourn,
And mourn and lament, without stopping?
Lament!
To refresh,
That faded summer of marigold,
To renew,
That withered sunflower of hope.

Repent, lament and mourn!
The hour of rejoicing approaches,
The hour of comforting approaches.
Rejoice!
Unto us a child is born,
Unto us the earth has been given, as our inheritance,
And the City of God rises out of blood and dust.

After all that
Rejoicing and lamenting,
In the end,
We find in you,
The unwritable Word,
Written on the expanse of ancient papyrus,
The unutterable Word,
Uttered with the ancient sound of silence.

Poem!
Stay here awhile with me.
I need to lament with your voice,
I need to weep with your tears,
To repaint the faded summer of marigold,
To walk these boulevards in the City of God,
And out of blood and dust, the City of God rising!