Sunday, December 5

Adventus - poetry & prayer


Now –
an incandescent hour
future-flung & far-fetched,
washed away in a reign
like a whimsical shower
as we, who lack the scope
for rough-hewn hope,
still sniff out portents
of a strange god’s presence,
while in the shadow
between light’s darkest day,
and the pith and pitch
of the final ray,
our lives are just a rumor
in heaven’s half hour –

Adventus (II)

It’s hard you know
because we just can’t find the bones
that prove he never rose
bones we don't want

for that would prove
he came – for now all we have is a bunch
of grapes a miry well a man caught
in the myrtles

yes some day
we just might meet
a king with names carved into his hand

until that hour for us wine flows
a good vintage of blood
for parched lips

Adventus (III)

I’ve crossed my city’s wastes
to fall before Your garden’s gate,
yellow moonlight sparkling
in a distant, splashing fountain.
The saltwater breeze from
Your house, like tropic
air before a storm, made me
long once more to see Your face.
You alone can forget, as
a forest will forget a whisper.
Yet I call on You, cry to You,
while it is true, I know, that I may
die here at your open door
before I see the sun.

copyright 2004 by Thomas Hall