A Song For Easter

The burning sun falls westwards now,
across the sands of Babylon.
One jackal and a crow call out,
triumphant that their war is won.


The days and years fall heavy here,
bearing judgment on this land.
The ants have picked the corpses bare
that lie between the sun and sand.


No music now, no laughter heard,
and all the harlots sleep alone;
the sprouts that pricked the surface once
are shriveled at the roots and gone.


Broken gateways of this place
we leave behind, we turn and fly;
at our backs a gaping sepulcher,
a cactus, and a stone beneath the sky.


One road leads across this desert,
Worn by naked feet throughout the years.
In sackcloth robes and thumb-crossed ashes
we wander through this wilderness of tears.


Salt-stained cheeks; bruised, aching limbs-
Our legs give out; we stumble, fall....
A piece of bread sustains us here,
a piercing ache, an inner call.


Broken, weary, empty, still
the air within our lungs is clean,
and in this cold and desert night
appear the stars that few have seen.

Now, when all but faith is gone,
we come at last to desert's edge;
I see you standing by me still,
my friend, to whom I gave my pledge.


We come to Zion's shining walls
with bleeding breasts and barren wombs;
O Water! Wash away the dust!
O sacred Oil of chrism heal our wounds!


Beyond the pages of the Book,
Past the open, empty tomb,
to the House where Father spreads
a banquet table, in the Upper Room.


And as we stand with shining eyes,
slowly forgetting Babylon
I welcome you, sweet child of God,
and all the choirs of angels sing us home.