by Paul C. Binotto
North Star, compass of the night, that brought me safely, by your light, across the bridge of anger, that spans the rushing danger, of the awful, sorrowful torrents, to alight, upon the shore of acceptance. I can sense, and see, in the morning air and light, Just beyond a thicket, a clearing comes in sight, like an altar, rising on ropes of incense. Where upon it reigns in golden monstrance, the sun, robed in such stunning rays of light, that it falls me where I stand, face down in repentance. Embroidered in eternal bloom, joy’s flower, the altar cloth, tells all who’ve gathered it’s a festive hour. Oh, holy faith, and hope, that brought me to this hour, to this dawning light! Accompany me still, in this final crossing, through these brambles woven tight. Where the thorns will scrub my flesh, and draw enough blood to scour away my sin, like dead skin, along this only path of entrance.