The cauldron boils with the blood of hope.

The smoke of sacrifice begins to rise.

The plumes are white! They have elected Pope!

The heartbeat of my Church is always wise.

When Jesus Christ was not yet saved---

when Judas kissed Him in Gethsemane---

when Pontius Pilate and that Herod raved---

the stars were still in harmony.

What makes you think it's any different now?

as you re-read the Revelation of Saint John?

The beast from the abyss will not know how

the world is held together till it's gone!

As if I know exactly who I am,

I wish I never had a soul to damn.

from "Post-Existential Sonnets," Folio I
by Tom Mellett, Austin, Texas, 1987

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