Where the River Turns
Under mists, we march through darkness
to the sound of Aztec drums.
Not conquerors or conquered,
but soldiers of your Sacred Heart.
With gentle words you shaped centuries
as you did thousands of years ago
Transforming cruel, broken misunderstanding
into faith and hope and love.
Holy mother.
Faithful virgin.
Our queen.
And my heart quickens as I think
of how the demons must wail at your presence
at how all evil recoils in self-destructive loathing
as it beholds your purest beauty.
Mary - this day, this life - I dedicate to your Son, my God,
through your humble and perfect intercession.
Pious, poetic handmaiden,
Queen of all eternity -
Pray for us.
2025-12-12
written fairly quickly up to 11:35 AM
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
