by Philip Sherrard

The sin my father sinned is mine;
the sin my mother sinned is mine;
so it is since the world began,
so will it be till the world ends.

I am Adam, I am Eve,
in me there grows the wicked tree,
through me the glittering serpent climbs,
my teeth break the apple’s rind.

My forehead bears the brand of Cain,
Abel bleeds within my blood;
I am the killer and the killed,
I am the hunted and I hunt.

Yet in me too the woman’s seed
crushes the serpent’s ugly head,
roots up the black denying tree,
plants a fresh garden in the wild.

And Cain’s brand dissolves in dew,
And Abel’s wound is healed at last;
killer, victim, now embrace,
hunted, hunter are at peace.

And upon great Adam’s breast
sighs the soft repentant Eve;
and naked go the beasts of love
among the green cool apple trees.

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2 Responses to Apocatastasis

  1. kimfrank says:

    Thank you for posting this poem, Fr. Aidan. It is beautiful, profound and healing.


  2. nathaniel drake carlson says:

    Sherrard is great. I would love to see you treat more of his work.


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