Holy Saturday poem

Holy Saturday

This is my waiting time.

You know the time, the day;
that fateful Saturday
between ghoulish, ghastly, deadly Friday
and
exhuberant, exhilerating, life-full Sunday.

The waiting day.

(the day when most thought death ruled
and few waited for promise truth)

The waiting day.
The in-between day.

This is my time.
Much of me has died
(cut out,
exorcised,
laid to rest).

Doctors say the waiting time goes on
(but healing is there).
Creator/Flesh/Spirit says the waiting time goes on
(but the promise will come).

As him who died (and lived)
was still (somehow) life;
I am dead/alive
in my waiting time.



22.7.91