For this darkness of our exile sooner ended;
Rain down like light on earth’s last lonely edge.
For this vast sky, its cold indifferent stare;
Rain down like heat that rages from a furnace.
For this vain work that wastes our fragile home;
Rain down like sweat upon the courtyard stones.
For our needful cries in silence met;
Rain down like echoes in the cavern-void.
For these bare hearts of animated clay;
Rain down like water pulled up from the deep.
For these deserts where we’ve mourned
our broken gods;
Rain down like cooling breath on these strands.
For those we’ve bound in endless chains;
Rain down like blood, a river-staining plague.
For this flesh become a banquet of delights;
Rain down like wine poured from a lonely cup.
For these empty hearths of ash and loneliness;
Rain down like bread of angels in our wandering place.
As one sun rises, eagerly, as it has always done;
Rain down into these hearts that, reaching, strive.
Now, in this hour, when our mourning work is done;
our sorrow wept upon the table
through these clasped and ragged hands,
remain with us. These courts we enter pleading:
LIGHT of all-enduring light we pray as in an upper room: upon the threshing floor of these poor hearts, we listen for a word that gently winnows, and wait to catch a glimpse of tongues of fire to ignite these hearts burst open by the love of one who animates the spheres.
(c) 2016, Karekin M Yarian, BSG