Black vestments
pierced with silver thread:
a sombre testimony
of better times.
Mourners gather in feeble
hope,
round Mother Church’s
altar;
clutching with faithful
hands
the offered straw.
A promise of
absolution,
cleansing and
healing.
A promise of
resurrection
and life anew.
A promise of
death’s abolition
and life’s
resolution.
The healing
flames of purgation
bring a
strangely purifying pain.
They offer an
end to years
of spasming
self-preservation.
Those who would
save their life
must set their
life aside;
must forget
themselves
and drain the
bloody tide.
All are welcome
to drink this cup.
All are worthy
of this blessing.
All are one in
this endeavour.
Pray for your
dead.
Pray for your
beloved,
for those you
cordially disliked,
for those you
coolly ignored,
for those you
coldly feared,
for those you
copiously hated.
Pray for all
your dead.
In this you
will find grace.
In this you
will find your peace.
In this you
will find salvation.
In this you
will find release.
