A Religious Soul’s Nightmare

A Religious Soul’s Nightmare

I’ve dreamt the most dreadful dream
exhausted, parched, my tongue become
a sluggy felten stone, my lungs
with sand’s fine sharp grit enseamed.

and lo and behold what doth appear?
and oh, oh dear who does draw near?
my savior, and yours!
the king of all worlds!

My head yet swimming, up stands
my heart as Jesu lifts a hand.

His lips and eyes alit with this
sweet, gentle, heaven-wide smile.
A simple clay cup is bliss
when desert’s thirst turns you wild.

But first! First kneel me down
‘fore God made flesh and God again.
No, no, bades he me, rise you clown!
and drink your fill of water, friend.

Both humbled and grateful, I take
the cup of cool clear well water
— a babe with doll her Mom got her —
and pull it in, my lips to slake.

When suddenly I notice the party at Cana is all around
the frolic, the merriment,
the water turning to wine
to wine!
so thirsty, and nothing but wine, deep, rich, unwatery wine
the kind you serve first, unless you’re Jesus,
whose wine keeps getting stronger and stronger all night long
good god! how could you!
so thirsty

copyright: AMW

[Bartleby’s Poetry Corner]

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