For three days beginning today I will be sharing three
poems I have composed concerning the Passion of Christ – in observance of
Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday.
I dreamed I saw Gethsemane
centuries later.
She did not stretch out her
foliage to greet me;
a wayside of Jerusalem
shadows I found her.
She would speak not of her
years long past;
only her coward’s heart
would she disclose.
I watched her pass the night,
her memories more corrosive
than the worms,
her flowers sprouting
thorns in the dark,
ready to prick and poison
the hand of a thief
feigning a gardener’s kiss
or caress.
Her low-hung leaves drooped
down in fetal despair
upon the overgrown footpaths.
Her dew would not freshen
the morning;
it flowed like tears of
grief out of desecrated affection.
Brokenhearted was she that
mine were not
the sandal-clad feet for
which her lonely bosom pined.
Invade her blackness as I
would
offering her the rich
solitude of my pilgrim quest,
she would only hold fast
her stubborn watch,
looking past my face and
smile for
some furtive following at
my heels.
Bye and bye she sent me
away, token-less.
Not far down the road I
heard her moan
at the sound of the world’s
treachery
only she could hear
beyond the crooked line of
her fence.
To read other entries in my
blog, please consult its website:
enspiritus.blogspot.com
I welcome feedback. Direct it to bobracine@verizon.net
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