Pieta Pieta

The death of your son fulfilled time.

Your praying face shows the peacefulness of the moment.

Mighty is your love,

and the protection of your grace engulfs the spirit of justice.

Mourn, the death of the king as his harrow ribs lay upon you.

Lift up the decaying body and witness the holy will transform the world.

Holy mother, with the blessed soul  

The saved will become the savior,

and your nurturing touch has set the universe.

Holy mother, Come

set down love, place grace so justice can be put in the tomb.

Pieta, the robe of contentment is upon you

Mourn no more and walk with me as salvation calls.


This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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