Sunday, February 21, 2010

a prose poem on "Holiness"

Stark white as bleached linen without a speck or blemish—layers of blank space—replaces what was previously black as midnight, speckled with dull pupils and dried blood. Those words—spoken from holy lips—swallowed all that was darkness in one moment, taking what was once perfect and breaking Him with the weight of all chains. Those words, “It is finished,” travelled across time and space, rejected by some and satiating others, seeping holiness into their cores. “It (death) is finished (no more).” But for One it had just begun—a three-day battle with Death, only to defeat it once more. Atonement built on sacrifice—The Sacrifice—fulfilled in necessary pain for mankind. Extending beyond Himself, stretched over all, filtering black so only white is visible. His elastic love—grace—made man holy. Set apart by those words which overcome the darkness in the soul, separating man from world. This untouched snow cleanses man, burning away dirt, leaving only the colors of life in His whiteness. Fire red, sun’s-bright orange, sunflower yellow, mint green, horizon blue, lavender hues—vivid colors of the northern lights—reflections of prisms and gems. Man may now choose what to do with this newfound freedom. Whether he let a black box and wires dull his senses and enslave him once more or he seize each day is up to him. A new door—decorated with simplistic love—has opened in his life. Pardon for wrong—payment in full—comes to the new Saint, former Sinner.