Poem: Messy Work

Haven’t written any poetry in a while. The first line of this one came to me yesterday evening, and I ran with it.  The title is just a working one, I’ll probably come up with something else.

This weary world is big with God.
The pains come quick, the breath comes dear,
Flesh rages its war; the hour draws near.
Yet still unending minutes plod.

Endless labor leaves us hollow;
Water has broken, blood has been shed.
Racked with pain, we have seen the Head –
But slow as death the rest to follow!

Mother Mary!  Bring us to birth!
Midwife to souls, call joy from pain:
How else dare we still remain
Suspended ‘twixt Heaven and earth?

Father God!  Hold us close, wings unfurled!
Within us you planted good seed,
Now rejoice with us in our need:
"A Man is born into the world!"

I almost feel that as an unmarried man I should apologize for writing this, but I won’t – I’ll just blame it on St. Paul and Romans 8. 🙂

Yes, it’s a bit graphic, but hey – as the working title is meant to indicate, life, death, and salvation aren’t pretty, nice, or hygienic.  Crucifixion hurts.  So does bearing a child.  So does being made a saint.