Beyond Stigmata? { Contrassegno Santo Della Crucifissione } Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Church doors ablaze, who be there...?
Seven Souls lost, in embers epilogue,
flesh melting off the shank
of blackened marrow -
'once' mortal bone.

Burns stung like dragons tongue
and standing o'er the Chaos,
I warned them, yes, I warned them all
of the Fahrenheit behind the doors,
as rapid as the Flemish Cap
as vermilion as its lightening,
torrid as Helens ashened range...,
how it would cremate their bodies
to the darkest grain of soot,
anthrocite, black-sanded ash;
though I once heard in a dream,
that Church doors were protected
by the wings of Michael's Seraphs,

like the blessed Cloth of Turin-
Sacred blanket, still posing
many queries, mysteries,
believers..... naysayers,
from Canna to Nazareth -
millenniums, two, since when-
The Birth, The Passion,
The King of Kings.....,
Crucifixion, Testament;
forcing the Holy Black Book
to Volume Two...quite a Genesis!

But here now burns
the Holy Wood
of HIS House,

the one He had Peter build
on Rock and prayer;
now bleeding hot, loud liquid screams,
behind these God-All Hallowed Doors.

{Said The Lamb}
['These ne're be doors that singe the Heart of Faith....']

Yet the fire stroked each corner
the 'House' that Peter built,
or was it Judas...the Betrayer,
Escariot, an' his coins,
solid silver......hollow soul,
and i could not scale the tree,
nor tear the rope from the branch,
from which he penanced to Death-
his lust for shiny silver,
o'er Gates of Solid Gold.
But, this not be Judas's hand
to burn The House of his Betrayed!

[For the betray-or, now memories of splintered ash,
long tossed into th' Roman air].

So, who then...could this be,
this incubus of 'The Christ'?

Shivers 'cross my chest, tight
then a burning sensation,
its path changing course
from chest-case to brow-line
from brow-line to mouth,
from mouth down to naval -
A Cross of pain...S Y M B O L....,
Stigmata!

Palms, sweat... cheeks, red... lips, blue;
lungs taste the tart scent of smoked myhrr,
and i begin to choke on ambience,
or purging a lapse in faith?

And at the foot of the Altar
stood a woman, veiled, sobbing.
Tabernacle Doors, wide open
blew open like canons-
discharged with Holy rancor!
And, the woman became small,
stepped inside the Chamber,
the Ever-Sacred Vault...

[Such as the Pentateuchs' 'Ark of The Covenant',
אָרוֹן הָבְּרִית‎ Ārōn Hāb'rīt ]

...For this houses The Blessed Sacrament,
the mystery of the Trinity,
and i felt so ashamed
inside my cold Dream,
standing by a statue
of the Most Sacred Heart
For i knew i owed penance,
'fore morning broke my Dream,
and once again, that haunting woman...tore my Mind.

Where did this woman come from?
Where did she go?
Moreso, who in God's Name was she?
Why did these souls burn toDeath?
How did the Altar remain unscathed,
from the wrath of such catastrophia? !

Questions i might have answers for, yes-
had i gone to Church yesterday.
Even for a minute or five or ten,
light a votive....pray for someone besides me.
Altruism is a virtue...has its merits!

Better dreams might have passed my guilty mind
had i been a better man;
took time to give a'Thank You' for yesterdays breath.
Time to say Thank You for this Time, here!

God, Life is very strange...
Lord, Dreams are even stranger;
though they both are equal products -
of our own mortal conscience.
be it moral, a-moral....we all are of both
and Original Sin be that 'Mark'.

{The mystery of Stigmata, perhaps}?

Conscience is a virtue that balances Free Will.
Deliverance is the result of a conscience,
or the absence of.............................................{Said The Lamb}

'Heal my Heart, Fill my Mind;
with Wisdom from the Spirit Dove.
Take away these Symbols of Your Cross;
I am Your Servant, I am Your Passion
Your Lamb of Peace,
Your scab of War,
I curse the Beast,
for Its' smiling face
for deceit and temptation.

I've heard I am ashes and dust,
Born as such, in Death the same.
In Your image, I was made;
All I ask when You send Death
to come for me, passage me-
Deliver me to Paradise',
let the End be the Beginning of Forever.

Woke up to dark-red sheets
Stroked my face, arms and feet
Not a scratch, yet in my ears
Church bells hailing 10 o'clock Mass

Heard no sirens, saw no fire
pass my shade-drawn morning picture.
Symbols, Dreams, or perhaps
just human conscience..........................
...............................................................
...............................................hmmmm.

And, does it matter why one believes in God
...............................................so long as they do?


______________ F j R _______________




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Frank James Ryan Jr....FjR