BOSTON CATHOLIC JOURNAL
www.boston-catholic-journal.com
editor@boston-catholic-journal.com



                               Warfare in the Night



                                      Fears 
                                      
                                   like Spears

                          Stabbing through the night,

                               wounds not closed

                           seep memory's dried tears

                              anew upon the heart.

                                Feeble fingers 

                                 of the mind

                               grope and touch

                                 the dark ....

                               A band of panic

                                ties its knot.

                                 Imprisoned!

                                  Confined!

                                  Enclosed!
                                  
                               _______________
                               
                               
                                   Fears

                                like Spears

                            brandish and taunt

                       pacing through nocturnal hours

                                    The

                             Footsteps of evil.

                                   Then? 

                       Deep within a distant breath

                              begins to call,

                             At first, it is

                           but a fleeting gasp

                        and then a trembling sigh,

                       "Do not be afraid, it is I"

                              Unexpectedly!

                         An invasion of peace!

                           followed, quickly

                       by sleep's sweet release,

                            Battle is done.
                            
                            _______________
                           
                           
                       And with the waking morn ?

                    Laid as by an invisible hand

                         across the gently

                          heaving breast

                      The pure white sword

                                of

                            The Spirit! 
                            




A Cloistered Poor Clare Colettine Nun


copyright © 2004 - 2005 Boston Catholic Journal