Holy Thursday

by Robert Nachtegall

Within chapel fair
Is heaven’s coy lair,
Atonement exposed,
Veiled substance laid bare.

Grave King wrapped in gold
On stone sculpted bold
Is humbly attired
For us to behold

The warm crimson light
Chill shadows to flight
And silence about
Array closing night.

For in solemn clime
Is gifted dear time
Where grief and regret
Arouse love sublime

That we who encroach
With hearts fully broached,
The garden restored
On knees in approach

Dare not fall asleep
Before He who weeps
But bide passion’s eve
And vigil do keep.

Robert Nachtegall is married and lives in West Michigan, where he works as a business manager. He is previously published in The Imaginative Conservative and enjoys writing poetry as time and life permits.

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