Saturday, April 7, 2012

morning following shabbat

Harvey S. Mozolak

it was not a day without God
but surely a godless time
forsaken of faith and future
it was not that there was no sun
but the light seemed not to matter
whether we walked the teeming tense streets
used the back alleys hidden
or hurried along the paths to Emmaus
and Bethany they were empty
without him who was our brother
no our new found Lord
was he simply a torn bookmark?
and we have gone on to read
another chapter learn of new characters
find drama and loves that pass like seasons
if it were only that the king was asleep
so his subjects crept quietly around his slumber
because he rested on his throne
instead we had lifted him lifeless
from the passion of the pitiful perch
placed him the robes of death
and delivered him into the throat of silence
among the cold stones and unmovable rocks
then we talked in the low tones of the fearful
will another rule the same our days and years?
yet we must keep this memory
the vast hollow void
for there is a kind of holiness
in all the unkindness and killing
the venomous stick left like a serpent’s broken fang
on the mounded flesh of a swollen earth
drained and dead itself
the Sabbath is trumpeted for rest
but fitful twisting and turning
all these mournful musings
and I have yet to leave my bed
Simon did I hear the women leave early
to do the dreadful duty in which none take delight?

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