Thursday, April 13, 2017

PALM SUNDAY IN STAINED GLASS

The window beatified
the strange king.
Unique fragments, conjoined,
of colored glass
transformed
eye-blinding sun
to comprehensible
dazzle.

Greenest branches,
blue forget-me-nots
and yellow buttercups
paved the passage
of the quiet young man
and everlasting blue,
the sky,
was his crown.

We know the long hope
and the prophecy
which is now, in time,
fulfilled.  We need
a king at last,
to know who we are and to
be at home
on earth.

Enthused, bodies
alert, minds engaged,
hearts at ease,
we hailed him with
scarlet voice.
Hosannah
to our king.
Hosannah, King.

Came darkness at noon.
Tremorous earth quaked,
fresh rock exposed.
That scene of focussed hope
glistening in new light dazzles now
only as the fragmented
glass of a kaleidescope.

Glory,shining through
unpatterned shards, lights
the restless disarrray.  Image
fractured.  We have
a King.  At last.
We know who we are and will
never be at home
on earth.

jpd, 1978