Gold

This poem concludes a trilogy of poems over the last three Christmases. For 2009 and 2010 see Myrrh and Frankincense.

—–

All I have wanted
for two years
and three months
is treasure;
Not wrapped and buried
in a chest under the ground,
rotting, decaying,
already dead,
but here, held in my
my hands,
forever.

Every time they ask me
to look expectantly
to view forward and glory in the future
transformation,
I cannot see through
beads of tears.

Oh to lay glory and riches aside,
Oh that no man, no child, no boy,
no baby
no more may die;
That the sons of earth,
returned to earth,
laid in the earth,
would rise;
Be given second birth.

Forgive me if I would turn my face
for many futures;
Forgive me if I would be slow to purchase gold,
something to wipe my eyes with more than salt.

I have everything,
and for the rest of my mortal life,
I will have nothing;
Holes are God shaped,
and Gods are infant shaped,
and I have one such hole forever in my life,
forever in need of filling.

Golden for me are not crowns cast,
or altars, arks and urns sacrificed.
Golden is the moment I will stand with others,
shouting “worthy”,
and turning for one moment,
to see your face once again,
this time aligned, assigned, with me and the myriad others,
one cry, one voice, one saviour, one God.

Then, only then,
will I shed my final tear,
wiped away,
by the same hand,
that wiped yours,
and His.