Thine advent here XIII
OK. It is still pretty early in the morning for me. Not that early, but I have been up since before 5 to talk to the uAg. That's one of the reasons I know I love her; she is the only thing that has ever consistently gotten me out of bed before 7AM (pathetic, I know, but true all the same). Anyway, on to today's reading. This comes from the talented young poet, Katy Hartman.
God’s Self poured into the form of Man—
Word to Flesh. Universe’s Splendor confined
in mortal’s shell—Son of God. Son of man.
Spirit fused with bone and
Blood. Forsook well-deserved Paradise.
Planted His feet on fingertip-molded
Globe, touched Creation and Felt:
Dirt caked between toes
and rain of prostitute’s tears swirling into mud.
Leper’s mangled skin melting into smooth
under His fingertips.
Tickle of salt-sweat tumbling down skin.
Cracked-dry tongue pleading for moisture
And scratching of vacant stomach.
Pain of friend’s death and hot tears
of agony sliding down face.
Severed Roman ear sticky with coppery blood
Then reunited with trembling body.
Nail sinking into skin and embedding
In wood beneath. Fellowship of Father
Refused. Piercing pain of Trinity
Droplets of wet gathering
on stone sepulcher thick with Dark and
Crashing of Stone shattered. Cave
Flooded with torrent of light.
Victory of Death
Redeemed through the beams of the Son.