There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, 'Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.' But Abraham said, 'Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.' He said, 'Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father's house — for I have five brothers — that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.' Abraham replied, 'They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.' He said, 'No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.' He said to him, 'If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.'"
 Luke 16:19-31

Abraham’s bosom comforts
the fatherless, wounded weeping son
like a fired hearth, a stew,
and a slow, knowing drum beat at night

all the hurting, sore Lazaruses of the earth
will fly there free and
nuzzle him until the pain is taken up
into God’s own welcoming bosom

but not so for those who lounge
on white leather couches clutching
red wine goblets, who do not know
how to mourn the global wail

not to grieve is a luxury for the numbed
and pharmacologically well-fed
their anesthetic blocks the pain
but also the divine comfort of their longing

so drink up believers the cup of suffering
eat the bread of crumbled brokenness
have your numbed souls cracked open again
let the cosmic sorrow drip into you and feel


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