Monday, April 02, 2007

Pieta

Arms outstretched
Fingers curled like fallen blooms
You lie, abandoned.
I take your weight, finally
as I have not done since you were an infant
but I have longed to do ever since.
Let me take this burden now; leave us,
It is mine to bear. Mine the pain
not softened by forewarnings
but raw, and bloody, and new.
You, my son, are the seed that died
that lies forgotten in the dust of the earth.
Unless a seed dies…unless a seed dies….
I cannot think beyond this moment
I cannot feel beyond the tears
I do not want to reach out, knowing
that you will not reach for me.
Is there hope, even here, in this place?
Promised one...do your promises still hold true?
I was promised a sword to pierce my heart
And yet I see that it has pierced your own breast:
Were you given promises, too? And is there still
a fulfilment yet to come? In all my pain, there is a sense
of a beginning from this end; through all my tears, there is a glimpse
of a tomorrow.

No comments: