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Gina Marinello-Sweeney Books

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Peter

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I Thirst

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“. . . for a moment, perhaps an hour, they would wait, wait for something, and when that waiting was over, it was simply dismissed, goodbyes stated, reading materials closed, a momentary pause in the day that did not hold up to whatever came next. Waiting was often a resented gift, imparted to those who accepted it grudgingly in the hopes that something better would come along when the gift was tossed aside, boxed away for the next recipient.”

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Book:The Rose and the Sword
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“They whirled around in the light dance of a duchess entering a ball—majestic yet understated—a spiraling splash of purity of color that took shape under nature’s watch. A newly-sculpted garden burst forth, glistening in an afternoon sun. It welcomed the dusty pink rose, who stood beside its fellows, basked themselves in their own serenity of white, triumphant red, or cheery yellow. It swayed in the breath of a wind, caressing each and becoming more. It was a mixture of quiet and thunderous, light and dark, shyness and boldness. It was a mixture of the quiet strength and overwhelming courage that the human soul might wish to one day possess.”

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Book:The Rose and the Sword
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“He spun her world in silver-blue Catching in the light the faintest hues A maiden from a castle tall Its towers spun of silk But it could not stand against the winds Without foundation laid more firm And so the tide rushed forward And took it far from view Far, far away from view. She bent before the boat Laughter once in her eyes Silenced in the morning still And so she stepped into its web An echo of another age And weaving through the waters soft Like the Lady of Shalott Her Camelot in mind’s eye Too lost in silver-turned shadow gray To note the one who stood afar Beside the willowy tree behind Eyes cast in farther distance still Not far from where she lay. Her heart knew only the web that spun And onward she rowed, longer she held. Of silk, a flimsy dash of hope Of silk, a hope dashed in its midst Oh, its towers spun of silk. It could not stand It could not stand For, it was not a rock.”

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Book:Peter
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“They swept down into a great V, sentinels at watch withdrawing, gray swirls and curves of mountains reaching upwards in carefully-shaded lines of chalk and silhouette that overlooked the enormity of a sun-kissed world dreamt in glass-blown shapes. There was a deep, pervading serenity, quiet and solitary, in this sanctuary of branch and water, drifting across in far-reaching swells, and I breathed it in—breathed it in as if it could purge any poison from my heart.”

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Book:Peter
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“My Dear Lord, please help me. Place me in the Center of Your Perfect Will. Adoro te devote, latens Deitas. Bread of Life by bread concealed, speaking heart to heart. Tibi se cor meum totum subjicit. Let Your presence draw me in here my senses fail. Visus cactus, gustus in te falliti. This is truth enough for me. Peto quod petivit latro paenitens. Seeing You upon the Cross, flesh and blood, I find. Plagas, sicut Thomas, non intueor. I see not but name You still God and Prince of Life. O memoriale mortis Domini. How I thirst to meet Your gaze gloriously revealed. After life's obscurity, let me wake to see. Beauty shining from Your Face for eternity. Amen.”

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Book:I Thirst
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