Male voices, quavering with cold,
call to Christ's chosen.
The Latin archaic.
Psalms learned
thru many years of hardship.
Music is a language
all are
born
knowing
Venus hovers the horizon.
The sighing snow brings frozen hands
clutching rosary beads
to lips shivering
with piety.
The wind soughs in the buttresses
as holy monks whisper
their prayers
as cruelly hard stone
laps at their knees.
Stoic. Spartan. Men who are not men,
nor yet eunuchs, battle foes unseen,
and devils in flesh
buffet them.
It will be some hours thus.
Faces set like flint
yet soft
as the breast
of
a
dove
SoulSurvivor
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
Male voices, quavering with cold,
call to Christ's chosen.
The Latin archaic.
Psalms learned
thru many years of hardship.
Music is a language
all are
born
knowing
Venus hovers the horizon.
The sighing snow brings frozen hands
clutching rosary beads
to lips shivering
with piety.
The wind soughs in the buttresses
as holy monks whisper
their prayers
as cruelly hard stone
laps at their knees.
Stoic. Spartan. Men who are not men,
nor yet eunuchs, battle foes unseen,
and devils in flesh
buffet them.
It will be some hours thus.
Faces set like flint
yet soft
as the breast
of
a
dove
SoulSurvivor
I am not Catholic
but cannot help but have tremendous
admiration for these men and women
who've given their lives
and the comforts we take for granted
to serve Christ.
Some may say they are running from life.
I seem to think they may be trudging
TO IT.
Would that Christians be as dedicated!
