poem

other, stories

Once I came upon a poem (by Robert Frost) less read. And another, too.

The Door in The Dark

In going from room to room in the dark
I reached out blindly to save my face,
But neglected, however lightly, to lace
My fingers and close my arms in an arc.
A slim door got in past my guard,
And hit me a blow in the head so hard
I had my native simile jarred.
So people and things don’t pair anymore
With what they used to pair with before.

A Question

A voice said, Look me in the stars
And tell me truly, men of earth,
If all the soul-and-body scars
Were not too much to pay for birth.

 
(…and the trend keeps going.)

other

Advent

Two thousand years go by while while on the Cross
Our Lord is suffering still–there is no end
Of pain: the spear pierces, nails rend–
And we below with Mary weep our loss.

The chilling edge of night crawls round the earth;
At every second of the centuries,
The dark comes somewhere down, with dreadful ease
Slaying the sun, denying light’s rebirth.

But if the agony and death go on,
Our Lady’s tears, Our Lord’s most mortal cry,
So, too, the timeless lovely birth again–
And the forsaken tomb. Today: the dawn
That never ended and can never die
In breaking glory ushers in the slain.

Sheldon Vanauken