Jonni Greth- A Song for Holy Saturday.
Saints are impractical. Artists and philosophers are impractical. The world has only room for the practical.
Vr. Fulton Sheen
Can poets (can men in television)
Be saved? It is not easy
To believe in unknowable justice
Or pray in the name of a love
Whose name one’s forgotten: libera
Me, libera C (dear C)
And all poor s-o-b’s who never
Do anything properly, spare
Us in the youngest day when all are
Shaken awake, facts are facts,
(And I shall know exactly what happened
Today between noon and three)
That we, too, may come to the picnic
With nothing to hide, join the dance
As it moves in perichoresis,
Turns about the abiding tree.
W.H. Auden, “Horae Canonicae” (via invisibleforeigner)