The Man at the Rail

A three-tiered universe in a single room

Rainbow fabric against old-world gloom,

Where ageless words from an ancient muse

Grow in the near-empty pews.

Christ died

He nods.

Christ rose

He nods.

Christ will come again

He nods and nods and tries to stop

His hands clasped in vain.

Carved angels on wooden wings

Seeing, Seeing

The vicar speaks of broken chains

Freeing, freeing

I Am that I Am that I Am that I Am

Being, being

Head up, head down, head up, head down

Agreeing, agreeing?

Christ died

He nods.

Christ rose

He nods.

Christ will come again

He nods and nods and cannot stop

He understands the pain

The hymn comes on, an older thing

“All Creatures of Our God and King”

“Lift up your voice and with us sing”

Including us? What can we bring?

Nobody seems to hear a thing

Christ died

He nods.

Christ rose

He nods.

Christ will come again

He nods and nods will not stop.

“Christ will come again!”

This is His Body

This is His Blood

Man is but breath, bound in mud

Died at the Fall, cleansed by the Flood

Built on the Body and bought with the Blood

“…broken for you.”

They cannot say more

The Body and the Blood fall to the floor

He didn’t ask for this new fight

Isn’t the yoke easy and the burden light?

Instead, bones weary and resolve worn,

He thanks God for the curtain torn

For though Ark may not hold,

We in separate ships,

May stand before the Lord

On the same wretched hips.

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