Breathing the polished wood pews
listening to acoustical poignance
of steeple bell's, dripping sweetly
wrapping around Cathedral ceilings,
with its eerie echo of pipes and chime-
yet I do so love the 'Ave Maria'.
And, in the pews, those wood-stained benches
amorphous faces like statues sit somber,
awaiting the organists cue from the Priest
to begin the procession for the dead-
down the graystone aisle at St.Andrews Church.
Chilled silence is loud as we stand and watch
the mahogany casket flanked by twelve arms,
and placed on a stand facing the One
who was crucified twenty centuries past.
The Mass of the Resurrection,
a morose celebration
of Life, as the Priest will eulogize
He will speak of this soul,
incense this soul -
and later, bless the wood
before their laid down to sleep.
[And, he says to the mourners]
''For today we pray that the soul we mourn...
be passed to a Kingdom from the world in which
we remain behind to tarry in honor and sorrow...''
Then, holding each other as the casket is raised
and carried away to their home ad-finitum,
they join hands, ask God for fair solace-
all of us....from Church pews, grieving.
Frank James Ryan, Jr. /FjR
________MMXIV________
*Revised Dec.1st 2017
Reposted Dec.3rd 2017
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem