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Being young, I knew I’d never die
Time is just the fast before the feast
Matthew Lickona has been a staff writer for the Reader since 1995.
On Receiving a Death’s Head Rosary
- Some twenty years ago, I was eighteen
- And being young, I knew I’d never die
- And came to Rome, the oldest place I’d seen
- And in St. Mary’s church, an altar caught my eye
- “The slab is purest lapis,” the tour guide declared,
- “More precious than the gold it rests upon.”
- And being young, it seemed enough that I had stared
- And marveled at the stone, and then moved on.
- Some twenty years have passed now since I beheld that blue
- I’m older now, and know that I will die
- And now I know that altars are for giving God his due:
- And bloody business saved the world, adorn them how we try.
- But if duty built the altar, still love procured the lamb
- And a woman gave her blood to Him who bled
- If death must play the butler to meet the great I Am
- Then wire-bind the lapis beside a fleshless head.
- Then I’ll take up the mysteries, and beg the woman see
- Her child cling to life — and so to prayer
- Each blue bead is an Ave; each Ave is a plea
- That when my life runs out, she will be there
- The lapis beads an altar, my spotted will the sheep
- And the bone-man with the scythe becomes a priest
- Crying, “All flesh is corruption, it’s only love will keep,
- And time is just the fast before the feast.
- And time is just the fast before the feast.”
Leaving
- — for Olivia
- Wendy knew she couldn’t stay
- No matter what the Pan decreed
- She saw the work behind the play,
- Was wiser to the world’s need
- If boys are lost, they must be found
- And someone has to gather wood
- And love still makes the world go ’round
- And fun’s not quite the same as good
- She heard the ticking of the clock
- That warned old Hook of stealthy time
- She read the smile of the croc
- She watched Hook weep and flail and climb
- But oh, those days in Neverland
- Where even gravity gave way
- She had the grace to understand
- How precious is the passing day
Matthew Lickona has been a staff writer, critic, and sometime editor, cartoonist, and poet for the San Diego Reader since 1995. He lives with his wife and children in La Mesa.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Being young, I knew I’d never die
Time is just the fast before the feast
Being young, I knew I’d never die
Time is just the fast before the feast
Matthew Lickona has been a staff writer for the Reader since 1995.
On Receiving a Death’s Head Rosary
- Some twenty years ago, I was eighteen
- And being young, I knew I’d never die
- And came to Rome, the oldest place I’d seen
- And in St. Mary’s church, an altar caught my eye
- “The slab is purest lapis,” the tour guide declared,
- “More precious than the gold it rests upon.”
- And being young, it seemed enough that I had stared
- And marveled at the stone, and then moved on.
- Some twenty years have passed now since I beheld that blue
- I’m older now, and know that I will die
- And now I know that altars are for giving God his due:
- And bloody business saved the world, adorn them how we try.
- But if duty built the altar, still love procured the lamb
- And a woman gave her blood to Him who bled
- If death must play the butler to meet the great I Am
- Then wire-bind the lapis beside a fleshless head.
- Then I’ll take up the mysteries, and beg the woman see
- Her child cling to life — and so to prayer
- Each blue bead is an Ave; each Ave is a plea
- That when my life runs out, she will be there
- The lapis beads an altar, my spotted will the sheep
- And the bone-man with the scythe becomes a priest
- Crying, “All flesh is corruption, it’s only love will keep,
- And time is just the fast before the feast.
- And time is just the fast before the feast.”
Leaving
- — for Olivia
- Wendy knew she couldn’t stay
- No matter what the Pan decreed
- She saw the work behind the play,
- Was wiser to the world’s need
- If boys are lost, they must be found
- And someone has to gather wood
- And love still makes the world go ’round
- And fun’s not quite the same as good
- She heard the ticking of the clock
- That warned old Hook of stealthy time
- She read the smile of the croc
- She watched Hook weep and flail and climb
- But oh, those days in Neverland
- Where even gravity gave way
- She had the grace to understand
- How precious is the passing day
Matthew Lickona has been a staff writer, critic, and sometime editor, cartoonist, and poet for the San Diego Reader since 1995. He lives with his wife and children in La Mesa.
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