Before The Shrine

Before  The  Shrine

Don Hynes

When the tree of understanding

with its deep roots of faith

was felled by the godless,

the ancient island sank

beneath waves of ignorance,

the pain of displacement

and loss of sanctuary

buried under years of hunger,

centuries of wandering.

To recover, even to restore

called for prophets of strength,

poets of valor, for the holy place

to be held sacred once more.

Repenting from wrong doing,

priests and priestesses

lined the corridors of purgatory,

cheerful despite the gloom

and depravity against our beloved.

Awakening in these hours,

the light of the living is upon us

and where we stand we are not alone.

God speed us on this perilous journey

for the fallen are lost, and the lost

will not be found. Oh tender mercy, 

be upon us, the vagrant people,

that once more we find the fountain

to raise the dead who only sleep

and together before the shrine

of soul and spirit 

to innocence restored.

Shapes  of  the  Ancient

Preparing for the day

in morning hours,

avoid the fountain of discontent

with rippling waves that disturb the mind.

Recall the night’s darkness,

Jupiter aloft like a lamp,

the half moon’s muffled light 

shining on the quiet bay.

In this time of the profane made sacred

guard your treasure with silence,

thoughts of kindness protected

for the days to come.

The journey is yet far,

our endeavor infant in form.

Shapes of the ancient

on sandstone walls

remind us of pride

and the fault lines of hubris.

With the knowledge of trees

and strength of the tide

we will continue,

our faith a bright flag

under cloud filled skies.

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