Lightning

In a blip, the sorrow courses from every inner stream,
Flooding the spirit;
A vice of light and pain where the self is crushed –
’Tis fallen nature’s interminable force.
Yet inside the tabernacle of the mind
A lightning bolt strikes the storm,
Raging, quick, and mortal,
It stings me into the posture of the deathbed-penitent;
The raw stuff of the slaughter.

My reason rendered dumb
By the world’s many draughts numbed,
By the upward shocks of the Cross stung;
Yet never closer to the Esse have I knelt
Than in these absolutely fatigued days of Being-reliance.
Here, the Almighty reveals the Father’s hand,
The cooling comfort of His palms
Breathing the Pneuma through the Son.

In a blip, the temporal arrives and departs,
And nothing of the earth can last;
But in the wonderment of linear time –
In the Chronos comes the Truth.
How beautiful is the stain that spreads through history,
The blood of the Son that seeps into the crimson wound
To ever ease the sting.