by Abraham dela Torre
October is the month ordained for man
to join his fellow supplicants and hold
the beads of sweetness as an offering
of peace where it is scarce and sometimes lost.
It is a silent pause that doesn’t put
a heavy dent in every day’s account
of hurried quests and further heights to reach
in seeming restlessness to sate the self.
An earnest plea, it also is a part
of being one among the many sparks
whose lukewarm glow gets buried in a heart
engulfed by greed for golden quick rewards.
The prayer seeks for kindred souls at rest
that they be roused perhaps from oversleep;
whatever leisure wrought that drove them deep
into concupiscence, there is relief.
A Kempis ray of hope can rise, will shine
no matter where the darkness dwells or finds
more captives in its lair, there is a psalm
to say and send, posthaste, the dread to calm.
It only takes one saint, as one life did
to us redeem, as long as one obeys
and keeps his soul and body poor and chaste;
as only one drop is required to make
a lake. The grace has made it known to faith
we keep us separate from Him if earth
is our choice of sanctuary not
His hallowed cross; a million-rose abode.
