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The Poet’s Sabbath

Christ calling His sheep from among the dead on Black Saturday

The Black Sabbath is dawning,

A rich table set in full splendour

The Lamb descends among the pale, trembling shapes

That thirst in the shadows for his precious blood.

The Lord has invited those deserving shadows

To feast with the living and share the supreme gift

He bestowed on them to dispense freely.

Unspeakable grace, unthinkable kindness

Given to test the living charity of poetry

Destined highest among the arts

To share the gift of salvation!

Yet who among the living

Can go down to the shadows unscathed

Save unlucky Orpheus, who for his bride

Braved the perilous waters of Hades.

Who among the living could

Sup with those who’ve gone before us

Save sly Odysseus who wished to know the future.

Who among the living would brave

The horrors of Hades to save a worthy soul

If not the poet, whose cross in life it is to carry

The burdens death piles on the living.

Who else could save those who

Stubborn, self-reliant, and rebellious

Have departed defying our Lord,

Innocent of every other sin

Save treacherous, burning pride,

Seduced by greatness, yet obeying His Holy Ghost

To carry out His purpose & design!

It is the sacred duty of living Kings and Bards

To unearth their innocence

And grant them clemency,

Complying with the crucified one

Even against their better reason!

During the rich and opulent Black Sabbath

The Lord calls the land of the unconscious

Created my him, circumcised in its heart

To birth every moment thereafter

That takes its suck from its lambent breast.

The Sacred Heart harvests His sheep among

The hungry, trembling shadows of Hades,

And taking the scales off the eyes of the poets

Gives them words to call the chosen,

Granting charitable hearts the vision

Odysseus in vain tried to steal.

Odysseus in the Netherworld giving the shades blood to drink to prophecy his future

The Black Sabbath is dawning,

This year amid fresh budding trees and flowers

One more beautiful than the next

One more promising than the other

Like tender lace and love epistles

Nestling like the youthful faces

Of a Paolo and his Francesca

A Lancelot and his Guinevere

Soon to shed their dead petals

Depose them to their tragic ends!

A day of budding innocence

Sprinkled with the blossoms of sin

Between the sorrows of the Crucifixion

And the fragile awakening of the Resurrection

The Black Sabbath, that High and Holy Saturday,

Looms with the fires of the inferno

Licking the heels of the unconfessed,

Those tender souls like the melancholy Virgil

The humble nameless bard of Daphnis and his Chloë

Along with the unrelenting bosom

Of our father who took the child

To the high mountain for sacrifice

Even the same that was touched by His holy foot

When He startled His servant sent

To teach us beauty, measure, and virtue

To gave us the Votive crown of kings

And promise all He calls redemption!

The Lamb gathers his own among the shades

Even the rebellious ones He gave us to recognize as our own

Extending unheard of grace

To all whose holy gifts were from Him:

The Bard of heavenly harmonies

And the gardener of splendid pastures for urban eyes

The skilled director of silver shadows

And the magnificent philosopher of heretical thoughts

That were no heresy at all but all from Him

It takes the pious soul of the divinely gifted poet

To see the goodness in these treasures

And call the gentle little ones to the Black Sabbath,

Become one with the Eucharist

Where the living and the dead

The kings and the poets

Sup their full on the precious blood together

Even on the table laid out with

The Lord’s harvest among the shades


Orpheus leading Euridice out of the Netherworld
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