Gethsemane

ONE

dismayed

the hardest prayer to pray,

He struggled too.

breathing gethsemane

a cold gust of wind

“let this cup of suffering be taken from me”

blood-soaked sweat for no one but the trees to see

perhaps He found comfort in His creation

breathing and swaying in the wind as a fig tree

the trees, the land, the ground

would never, could never betray

each artistically formed with silent eyes

as man betrayed him who was man + God.

as man did in the first garden.

His soul, crushed

His body, fallen to the ground

His face, smeared with blood and sweat

His hands, pleading with the Heavens

as those closest to Him were asleep.

the perfection of humanity,

begged for another way

in full knowledge of what would occur

His humanity cried out

“my Father”

His voice speaking to the trees and those asleep

as His death drew near

Lord, not my will, but Yours be done.

TWO

all His Creation silent

the trees stopped their whispers

humanity asleep

the rocks turned their faces from Him

and as He sank to His knees

the ground from which He came rejected Him

all His creation, looking away from Him

so He wouldn’t see the trees cry,

hear the rocks cry out,

the sound of humanity weeping,

the ground calling out in denial

and as He wept alone,

with their eyes turned from Him,

Creation wept too.