Tenebrae

B. Hartless

Shades, shadows of the night,

All the dark creeping things shiver out

From the dank spaces of their secret lives

And whisper in the glooming,

Seeking prey, savage, shrunken gripped.

Dry ground, and gravel shredding skin

Watered by the tears of torment,

And by blood-like sweat,

Not of hard exertion,

But intensity of prayer.

Letting go, acceptance,

Stings and bites the soul.

Only a single candle waits awake,

While death’s cup fills.

B.I. Hartless

Holy week 2020