Author Information
Ceremony
The withered man
held the priest's hand
like a rosary
or a doorhandle
to a great gate.
His feverish hate
had broken into
a wordless world
of comforting light
from the welcoming night.
In this land
where all men began
they are reinventing
the ceremony of need
with abundant grace.
The furious pace
of all this dying
can hold back
only so much birth
from this scarred earth.
The priest stood
knowing he would
be back for more praying
tomorrow.
nice job, we hate what we fear and fear what we don't understand.
interesting poem .