Mystery.
History.
Blistering words from the shepherd’s mouth
Readily inters hopes of the interested youth.
Awe-stricken
Love-driven
But tradition’s the cur crashing the wedding party
Where saints soared, and is welcome no more.
Mystery’s now history.
The altar rail? Rolled out, burnt up or trashed.
Baroque over-the-top vestments got rehashed
Into lone wolves calling the moonlit heavens
Replacing gold-adorned lions glittering in sunny havens
Flowery kaleidoscopes of holy things seeming
To tell the story of angels singing, teeming
When the banquet brought Heaven to lowly earth
And hearts bought heavily through a horrid death
Breathed in unison at the choir’s echoes. The history
Now destroyed. Gone and forgotten mystery.
Blistering words from the shepherds’ mouths
Readily inter the hope for staying true
Why? Out with the tried and true
In with the unknown untried new
The interested youth must learn something new
For saintlike worship is now stale and foul.
But the victory remains with He that wins all,
Who wrought all, Who once in death enthralled
Fought our way out. Yes!
Restoration will come and through all and in all
There will be glory, beauty, truth, and hope!
A return to the kaleidoscope of holy things teeming:
History!
Mystery!
Glory!
(c) nyonglema
Monthly Archives: April 2026
Shower, song and tears
It’s cold.
The water rivulets stab the hairs on my back
Till each like morning soldiers at attention,
Raise and pose. Water on my face is salty
Drop by drop rushing through the silence
Staring back at me in distorted human form
On knobs that don’t know you,
On a shower column that knows too
Well how to bleed without the red.
Sing! Break the silent solitude
With one of your songs!
A heart heaving for distant love
Mustering the strength to echo our words:
“Nell oscurità”. That’s where I am.
“Stretti forte e poi”. Poor me, not here.
Then choke. I replace the shower.
The pain hits pause to my singing, but
My eyes bent over towards the ground
Keep watering the glistening tiles
Like to grow you out of them right here.
But you’re not here.
You’re there where my heat cannot reach
And though promised soon to be, right now
The world’s but a cemetery with only you,
As my bowed head pours out, seeking you.
And the whole world misses your embrace
And the whole world is worse off for it.
(c) nyonglema
waghni 