HOLY REST

Abbott Benedict hunches over his desk,
scribing 73 rules for monks,
beginning with the word,
“listen.”

The Abbess Petunia rolls over,
reclines and dreams the word,
“surrender.”

When we grant ourselves holy rest,
wisdom settles on us like dust between breezes.
The stillness that lies between our breaths,
gives our oblate hearts precious time to love.

(poem inspired by photograph provided by Christine Valters Paintner @ abbeyof thearts.com Visit Christine's website and join the Poetry Party every other Monday.)

ANGELS OF COMFORT

The angels of comfort,
they captured me on Sunday morn.
And after wrapping me
in gold threaded blue silk
and anointing my forehead
with fine fragrant oils
I decided, perhaps
these messengers from heaven knew best
and that my mortal flesh
needed nurturing
after all.
I succumbed.

My heart-yoked breath
grew faint but deeper
as I lay in the arms of my beloveds.
Not resting, but spinning dreams,
tales of familiar spirits
from diverse worlds with different tongues
but speaking the same true words.

Would that this too shall never pass,
I bow my head to softly pray
for simple gifts of time and peace
brought to us this Sabbath day.