(thank you for this post. Here is my response: to Meditate and Pray by L C. Dance)
40 Days
YB
The clayish ground has become silvery
From damp to dry as weeds turn yellow brown.
Abandoned yet adorn by glimmery
of shining bits of sand strewn all around
and remnant bones. This ship that sparkles rife
stands like fire as brilliant as midday,
as if it ruled the dunes and winds above.
No spirit, scholarly nor low of life,
whose sense is neither lost nor gone astray,
would seek out here his solitude and love.
Except for one, a foolish seeker, old
Or older than the goddesses of Time,
In tattered rags that dazzle like pure gold,
Would touch with fingers joyful and sublime
The stubbly grains of this sanctuary’s earth,
This harbor for time’s wearied travellers
Tired of the endless bickering and race
To reach the empty mountain tops from birth;
A race to last till death, and crueler
Than being tortured and spat on the face.
Yet in the midst of hell upon her earth
Shall rise the monument of her advice
And round her torso is the bloodied girth,
And crown of thorns to mute her many sighs:
The steps to her Golgotha, lessons learned,
The lashes on her back, benevolence.
And from her side shall drip out clemency,
As tears from both her eyes, her deep concern
For this persistent protracted weariness,
Thirsting for faith in man’s humanity.
September 14, 2021
