In Arboretum

Your avalanche was never too much,
As a snow awakening, not so crucial,
Yet nonetheless breathtakingly blinding.
And blinding my way ahead,
You made me set aside my soul,
I conceded to you my version of life.
But that was then and this is now.
I may have been forgotten,
I may be lost.
However you have made me love you,
For the whole tree of my life.

©2019 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved

In Erroratum Vigilans

As was once,
Now it is of the Holy Automata.
How best now to camouflage
The canker of sacramental deception?
The nub of which
Stands at the foot of the Tree Mechanical.
It will not be enough just to say
Then let it be so,
It is the Pilgrims way.
The rift opens between The Spirit
And The Mortal.
Then I say let it be so undone
That actual workings are exposed.
There is too much of humanity
In this Ark of disparities.
Then hold service afresh
For the sake of all clerics.
Because their vestments are as thin
As their diluted blessings.
Wherein nothing can be concealed,
Not even the cardinal error
That has caused such a loss,
Which is that of the abandonment of truth.

©2019 Christopher Thompson
All rights reserved