by Michael Walker
Upon my lids untinctured fingers press,
About my limbs a mantle melts in stars,
When on my lips soft prayers His Heart caress,
Although His Face my violent trespass mars.
O, my heart cleaves upon His Heart that’s cleft,
His Pain relieves the pain I with Him left;
I cannot watch the night turn into day
Without recalling Light that made my eye.
I cry for Light denied, unending, bright,
While ballads turn to bloody battles lost,
While slaughter turns to lusting laughter’s spite,
While kindness upon jealousy is tossed.
Prayers born of memories ignite the night
Until the Son long-scorned comes into sight.