Saturday’s Mourning In Glory

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Entombed in the thickest of forests He lay,

donning a shroud of cool, deadened leaves.

Limbs that once held the glorious weight of the world

lie scattered about the sacred grounds.

Branches that once shouldered the burden of the blame

had broken from the main, and still the vines held fast.

Everything for which He stood — a scheme inside a dream

His crowning achievement — a sacrificial theme

‘Twas all laid to rest beside the petrifying flesh of his ancestors.

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Many a number of trees in these woods had been borne of his seed.

Year after year, they continued to fill the avoided spaces with new life.

Surrounding Him now, one by one,

they began to pay homage to His grandeur.

The critters nearby crept forth in a slow procession,

whilst the raven kept his quiet,

keeping a keen eye on the softly landing white doves.

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‘Twas the perfect mourning for the painful,

exacting moments to spring forth and reclaim their royal birthrights.

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Sacred Taboos

When you break one, you become one.

“Don’t touch that!” Whatever it may be. “Don’t even think about it!”

What about the healing touch of a Saint?

Are not they allowed to touch The Untouchables?

“You’ll get germs!” By the way my mother yelled about it,

one was to assume there was pretty much germs on

everything – everywhere – all the time!

Even in the bathtub lay the hidden taboos. “Don’t play with that!”

To do so was considered dirty, and therefore,

I figured, it must clean itself.

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Inhibitions and restrictions vary from place to place.

What was so great about Rome?

Would you do as the Romans did, if you happened

to find yourself in a Grecian state of mind?

It sounds fairly dangerous to me, weighing the risks involved.

Then again…Mother owns the scales.