Blessed mother, sacred father:
your son has forsaken your way.
Gone from mine eyes is the radiance
of your puissant Pantheon, escaped
from mine soul as the blood-aery
poured from the vacated void of the blade:
Baptized, as it happens, on Sacred Calvary.
Blessed mother, sacred father:
your son has forsaken your way.
Mine spear borne away by bewinged babes,
and mine armour broken in devout decay as
dawn approached while the sun setting, unfurled:
The man thrice-pierced and twice crowned
had died, and as I to this world.
Blessed mother, sacred father:
your son has forsaken your way.
Lifted aloft and b’wreathed by angels,
promised the thousand glories of mortal deliverance
as my men bore him away and gone:
He is dead, gone and rotting in a cave,
but what can be of day if lacking in Son?
Blessed mother, sacred dather,
your son has forsaken your way:
Light not a pyre for him, nor
sing sorrows to thine furies –
strike thy son Longinus from the lists,
take all that we Romans know of this world
and cast it forth into the abyss.
No comments:
Post a Comment