Praise of the Arcs


O Lord Jesus, our Christ-God
the onslaught against Thee continues
still; they hate not Thy person,
but who could not love Thee?
Instead they despise the reflecting
that Thy divine light looses
on their dark conscience, full of sadness and regret; O
kind and gentle Master; fearful Pantokrator
Thy righteousness preceedeth Thee.
It roars down into the well of our sorrows,
our joyful suffering, as we grope
through a lightless room. And then
the candle stirs; the breathing tides sway;
Thy good report hymns Thy silent praises
into an extraordinary dimension.
This region has no place, nor form,
nor tangible proof of identity, save
Thy love reflected across the parallel oceans
bearing Thy thoughts unto a small school
of Believers, cutting arcs through
the fog of thick space where galaxies compress
and angels mingle.

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About Pete Mladineo


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