| Poetry |
Lenten Angst
I
Brisk and brisk, the late Winter
Kisses my cheeks with scorn
To the rhythm of that laughing world.
And street lamps haunt the rustling streets
And street lamps breath onto the growing nite.
How long, O Lord? Will you forget me
forever?
The musicians dance their strings,
The dancers blow on their flutes,
As clarinets trumpet the dawn of the grease bars
Of weekdays, forever lost.
How long,
How long, O Lord?
How long will you hide your face
from me?
To which oasis am I to wander?
Concrete sands spread to the north
and to the south
and to the east
and to the west.
And the wind blows ever cold
Against my burning face, pink, like a budding rose.
II
The choirs sing evermore!
Sundays forgotten in this twenty-first century
angst.
How long,
How long must I wrestle with
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
Daybreak, a distant reverie
And everyday have sorrow in my heart?
Twilight, a haunting glow
- A silhouette triumphing o'er my clouds.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep
in death.
And the roses shall die 'neath the blossoming
Spring,
And the laughing guise of street lamps
And daybreak may rise o'er the curse of the
bewitched, hidden stars
Who shall break their atmospheric cloaks
And shine upon a world lost to me.
I will sing to the Lord
for He has been good to me.
By Ben Kuzemka
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