a poem for my Lord


still drunk

on the splendor

of divine communion,

i walked – no, staggered –

to the garden of my delight.

and there, i saw him,

the king,

the little one,

flying and flying

as though unable to stop.


i had to meet him…

and so began to whisper

soft butterfly sounds.

“come, rest a moment,

my little one,

drink of the nectar.

see how beautiful it is?”

but he swooped and dove

 in frantic, fervid flutter,

heedless of my call.


 “might i receive your image?”

i pleaded. “please?”

his assent was but a pause.

the shutter clicked

and he was on the wing,

his flower-fast intact.

but i had seen him –

and seeing, had gasped,

so like our Master was he

in his affliction.


he had no majestic bearing –

no beauty to draw me to him;

pierced, crushed, stricken,

spurned and avoided,

yet even more

did i long for him…

rising to the heights,

descending to the depths,

he raced a course

i could not follow.


but i had to follow.

how could i leave him

who was giving everything,

when i had nothing to offer

but my empty heart,

poor burial-place for my lord?

watching, waiting,

his wounds ever before me,

i reached for him –

“if i can but touch…”


open and obedient,

yearning to be his home,

my tomb-like heart

awaited the final flutter;

 the king himself cannot elude death

bearing wounds such as these…


a stillness comes over me.

spirit seeing what eyes cannot,

…his beauty fills my heart.





{Many of you will recognize the allusions to the prophet Isaiah’s words about the Suffering Servant (chapter 53) in the fourth stanza. Not wanting to disrupt the flow of the verse with a footnote, I acknowledge the reference source here.}

5 thoughts on “a poem for my Lord

  1. albert

    Amen. And silence here, too.

    . . . But i have to say, that second photograph is a whole new poem: the bright smile, the glasses (which have become symbols, I think), the flowers, those small dancing patterns at the bottom, the complete and magnificent butterfly– all blended together and seen as in a dream or a vision. That image I’m taking as a kind of icon, in the senses that a dear priest explained to me–as ca window and a story and a lesson.

    But don’t worry, I’m not venerating it. I’m simply going to keep it near as a visual expression of, and encouragement for, joyful faith in resurrection: The resurrection, ours, and all creation’s.


  2. mary Post author

    As always, thanks for helping me see what I don’t always see in what I have posted. Deeper understandings await me.

    As always, thanks for reading and your comment which encourages me when writing seems an effort.

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