Jacob Curran

Beneath the edicule

Have mercy on these old walls,

A hole in the stone I am,

A cave in the Holy City.

Wipe away the gossamer

And take your rest here.

I yearn for the body.

I am frozen with the years,

Rigid as the bones of Cain,

Inert since the death of this world.

The best of me is carved away

To make room for the body.

I am dark and damp and full of filth,

But for these three days I am yours.

Not a palace but a portal,

Not a temple but a tomb,

I am the final courtesy of the living,

The hole in the Earth that needs sealing.

Do not fear the scent of herbs, of myrrh,

The stone that plugs my mouth.

Your destiny is beyond these walls,

But to hold you is my birthright,

My one hope, my salvation.

So lay here.

Give me the body.

Until every stone sings,

Until the mouth moves,

And the rock walls cry out,

“Hosana! Hosana! Hosanna in the highest!”

A thousand years like three days—

I’m sure you won’t be long.

samson and the paramour

I am Delilah,

Continents away from you,

My beloved Nazirite.

With the scattered beats of the city behind,

Amidst the roar of urban chaos

I forget my God for my love of wealth.

I am hidden from my own affections.

Come.

Find me in the tallest tower

Pouring over spreadsheets to feed my family.

Concrete pillars of a temple, they are

Built for the worship of some unholy god—

Paramour that I pay homage to,

Who feeds me when I plow his field,

Who nurtures seeds of my resentment

And loves my distraction,

My blindness at work,

Who loves when my ears are stone deaf and cold,

When my vocal cords do not ring out.

Sing to me Samson.

Do not relent until I turn to you,

Faithful and free.

Leave no stone unturned, no idol unbroken.

Never again let your melodies cease

Until every bone of mine is covered

In sinew and flesh,

The means of movement,

Until pulse of life is rediscovered.

Let the thrum of your voice, and beat of the drum

Rattle the base of this sanctuary,

And should I die as it crumbles to dust

Should I be extinguished with all that I know,

With the destruction of greed and false prosperity,

Hold me close to you, my love.

Let me feel heat of your breath on my skin

And your arms around me one last time.

Jacob Curran is a Catholic Poet and Musician from the Greater Seattle Area.  His art probes "the higher things" (Col 3:2) through examination of the interior movements of the spiritual life.  Follow him @jake.the.sanke on Instagram, @desperate.affections on Tiktok or bookmark his website, desperateaffectionspoetry.wordpress.com to avail yourself of updates on his work.