Poem: Another Good Friday


image courtesy of Michelle Tribe at flickr.com



Let not this day grow stale,

the crumbs of Communion dry upon my tongue,

nor the wine turn rancid

when my long-bottled faith is exposed to air.


Let me not soak my indifference into a sponge

as sour vinegar

and raise it on hyssop branch

to mock the lips of one who thirsts.


Let me not forget

the spilling out,

the red stains

the taste of

the True Wine.


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