Papa!

I heard from a good friend Friday night, who asked if I would want to see the Pope in Yonkers, NY for the youth rally and music festival, and of course I did! I woke up at 5am Saturday morning and didn’t get home from the beautiful day until midnight. Thanks to Mission Youth I was about twenty yards from the stage, the entire time. Mo Rocca was the MC and described the day similar to the hippie-ish Woodstock; Popestock. I struggled trying to envelope the feeling of being with the Vicar of Christ, and it came out in a sonnet and a free verse poem I had to write for my poetry class today. Maybe this makes some sense of it.

The German Shepherd XVI

A peaceful smile and white vestments had an iridescent glow

Which made my skin prickle as if God’s hand reached down from the sky.

When I saw the Pope in Yonkers, I almost did cry

With joy that lifts you off the ground; a floating soul.

Twenty-six thousand faces aching for another word to console

wilted hopes, unanswered questions paired with an internal sigh.

A sea of youth, cheering, hands and banners stretched high.

Never did eighty-one year-old flesh seem so bold.

During brief silence I caught his eye with a wave

a gesture which uncontrollably popped up on its own

as natural as an eye blinks, my hand was so brave.

Never knowing the deep confidence that had grown,

Although I refused to accept that I was a slave

to my insecurities. In a sea of youth, I am not alone.

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Our Hope

Love unites those who judge first

and later realize they yearn to fill the same dusty hole

where love belongs. No skin is right or wrong

No body shape or culture, either. The universal language

formed in deed and word is the cement brick

in the basement of humanity; an imperfect brick with cracks

of violence and indifference that only with love can remain solid.

In a sea of youth, I am not alone. Each day, a trial to prove

our skin is thick enough to keep the blood of passion flowing within.

Benedict XVI said people are many times used as an option

rather than as an opportunity to love

more. Our hope in this stale state is

each day is new, each hand is washed pure. White,

as the garment on baptized, confirmed, and married;

white as the cloud silhouetted by sunlight.

Our love releases our hope from the clanking chains of pride.