March 17. 1969
The N. C. Essay
"and everywhere the aeremony of innooenae
THE MORROW WILL DAWN
by Celia Sparger
The sun nestles beyond the hills,
Evening fades into night.
Storm clouds hover soppressingly low
And the rain falling mercilessly'.
Obliterates the hope — light —
snow that falls, blood curled red in the
hands of virgin saints, against the
roaring, bomb-stained sky.
in chapels pray the untarnished,
who kneel in hopeful absolution to the
crimson priest, blinded by his mercy,
lulled like angels into comfortable sin.
The first death is the hardest,
but my baby, wombwet, unjoyous at his
prospects for a simple meal, can only wail. ,
what have you to say to him, reverend father?'
At first there's morning.
Then there is evening.
\ how will you ask his stomach not to be
\ hungry? he can't return to my womb where it's
very quiet. Have you a womb?
ino, only in the white-seared eyes is
I my child’s repose, let his feeble cry
j be muffled by your grace.
And the snow,
now melted, mingled with blood, the
blood that fell over a thousand cities,
fills your silver communion cup.
I'-’ J ‘"■V-.
The swirling snow
Obscures the hope — light —
An infinite gray mass
Reaches with unfeeling fingers
across the sky.
Smothering the hope — light —
But the sun cannot hide forever
It must return to life
And hope is not dead
So be strong, my friend
For the morrow will dawn.
But only for those who await it.
I t '. V I
I U ‘ \ a
The air is gone!
There is no escape, not by wit.
And even less by instinct.
No sound ever floats out to warn of
For it is deep and dark.
A flower would wither in despair
Before it died from lack of light.
Love lies writhing.
Kisses fall from gnarled lips,
And the gods have gone away.