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Holy Saturday

Vacant

(x = space)

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Vacant

(Holy Saturday)

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A day for scurrying

Like mice in light

Look for food,

Hide, rest

Listening for the next

Sounds that are not yours

That might be coming for you

Or might give you away

Now add on human sadness

The living of a tragedy

Like Oedipus,

Antigone

No happy ending possible

The hero is gone

The extraordinary years are gone

There is nothing now

But flight from arrest,

Weeping as at Babylon

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Practicing tradition

In the dark

Since the source was killed

In horror

Sleeps without sleeping

Leaving everyone

To scurry to avoid arrest

To somehow persist

With broken hearts

Hope so far off

To be recalled

Stories torn

Healing forgotten

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We count this day

An in-between

They knew it only

As an empty,

Weeping nothing

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C L Couch

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Photo by Denny Müller on Unsplash

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Who Wins

(x = space)

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Who Wins

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An empty room

Where there might have been a meal

Smell the hope and then the fear

And here’s a garden

Pretty

There was violence here

Now the plot is done,

Everything realized

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Another foe

Who sought to shift the blame

From Rome to us

Our need to have an enemy

To stoke our places

In tradition

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The others should be caught

The followers

No hurry

The serpent is now headless

Only nerves remain

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The world has won

And we are glad

Our own strategy to overthrow

Goes back into a box

In which there is less silver

To count

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An easy price

To pay

For indolence

Now back to lethargy

We have time

And everything is scheduled quiet

Scheduled noise

Again

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C L Couch

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Photo by Daniel Katz on Unsplash

Masada

Lookout through ancient Masada building.

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Penance

Penance

(Holy Saturday)

 

The emptiness of God

There can be such a thing

 

When God has left

Because we cast God out

 

What it means to have God slain

All miracles and lessons ended

 

The company

The miracle of trust

 

To have the

Lord in body

 

Hungry, thirst with us

The source of faith in the room

 

And yet we struggled with

Him in the flesh

 

Now

Now there’s less than nothing

 

Fear of arrest, forgotten words

There’s hiding, lack of life

 

No prophecy unremembered

Is worth all this

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Vincent Erhart on Unsplash

I took that image in a former Romanian salt mine. It was one of the darkest, most surrealistic and impressing place I have ever been. . . . The photo shows the 120 meter high vertical main tunnel.

 

The Day After

The Day After

(Holy Saturday 2018)

 

The Saturday before

And nothing’s going on

 

Is there a signal yet

A code for believers

Not the fish, even though

Remembrance of the feast

Upon the hillside

Could be recalled

 

But the last letters of acrostic

Faithlessly, have not been found

 

In disillusion

Fear of capture

Greater fear of nothingness

 

All that’s left is, what,

Eat something, find a place to

Stop

As darkness of the human heart

Enfolds

 

And doubt in anything that’s good

Or lasts

Washes like acid

Over once-fast believing

 

C L Couch

 

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