De Profundis

I plummeted down,

that labyrinthine way,

where deep calls upon deep.

There, I wrestled the waves,

the murk-laden crests, drowning sweeps, fell sands.

Besot, my soul,

laid waste everything in me

like blackest lead.

Tears beyond count,

loud lamentation aspersed, feeds the salty swirl.

Aphrodite, her foamy tomb,

so fair, verdant, livid,

made naught.

Sirens trumpet-call,

taunting love never-met, never meant to be,

Hades open-mawed,

the old devestatrix,

welcome waits.

Oh that I might sink into oblivion!

Buried in sweet pain,

sweetest might forget, ere sharpest to fight.

Dare I stay,

where no solace, dark mist can depart,

no hope alights, no love echo?

 

Mater Dolorosa

Oh, sweet mother of the blessed one,

how far a path of darkness you trod,

pierced first by daggers of bitter prophecy,

pierced second by most-terrible loss.

 

You found him there, your son,

declaring independence from earthly things.

You saw him once, fallen and bruised,

and offered a mother’s hands.

 

His small boyish frame, you could not imagine,

yet he flourished like the yearling lamb.

 

Oh most severe was death’s dim shadow

when your little boy leaned against the cedar,

when he took up his hammer at dawn.

 

How you knew he was a priest,

unlike those who slaughtered beasts.

 

No, your boy, once grown,

would offer himself, the lamb,

clothed in scarlet vestments,

wearing the miter of thorns.

 

And you, kindly ewe,

will offer the incense of bitter tears.

His “consummatum”

you shall answer “be it done.”