Saturday, April 15, 2006

poem: Holy Saturday

This isn't so much about Holy Saturday (the Saturday before Easter Sunday) as the thought that we as Christians live out our lives on that Saturday, in hope of the final redemption, but not yet seeing that hope. Easter Sunday will eventually come, but it is not yet here.

3/3/99 or 4/3/99

Untitled
Camelot evaporates,
Like sun-warmed mist and dew
It disappears.
How am I to understand the pain,
How am I to comprehend it?
How am I to find my place in this world?
I groan, eager for the redemption.
But it is Easter Saturday, and the resurrection has not yet come.
We have only a promise, for
We live out our lives on Saturday.

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2 comments:

Road Runner said...

Poetry Wisdom there is.

Road Runner said...

Beep Beep

Dashes away, As the Wile E. Coyote grasps thin air. =-p=-p