The Lenten Journey: A Lenten Poem

Mercredi des Cendres

Before they are smeared on my head,
I feel the swirling,
like the storm on the screen,
in my chest.

The isolated weather prediction with
indistinct parameters.

Temptation is there before it has been denied.

Perhaps it is the truth of the dust
from where we came.
This mark of beginning created from an end.

The reminder that what seems futile
is really the culmination of Saints,
in this speck of time,
as we seek to find meaning in

Faced with something that begins in ashes,
I wonder if I can give up resisting.
Or submit to the darkness that is avoided in the
artificial light-led lives of our time.

The void is expected
but it is not guaranteed.
Insights revealed in the compounding
of practice.

The fast is the focus…
then, on what do you Feast?


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