On Hope

a poem I composed for our late Great John Paul II shortly after he died:

In triumph, the sacred keys fall to the marble floor,
The clatter echoing through the vaulted halls of antiquity.
The gatekeeper sleeps, but the gate is secure
As a rock which laughs at the futile rage of the foaming sea.

The light atop the rock shines in the darkness
And the darkness cannot overcome it.
"Be not afraid!" its coded message blinks
In hopeful concern for a world in ruins,
In love for man gone mad with his excesses.

The red birds fly, in sorrow and in joy,
To the Eternal City where one of them will be exalted
To become the servant of all.

A new hand, withered with age, picks up the fallen keys
And the succession continues,
Full truth ever intact, ever tactful in truth.
Crowned with white
And washing my feet.

April 7, 2005

Farewell papa! I will meet you under the Tree of Life!