The Black River is a journey in faith. It delves into an exploration of life: from the calm, clear waters of the good days, the mundane, to the swirling eddies and deep waters of issues that face every one of us.
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Saturday, 4 April 2015
The Garden of Gesthemene
I wrote this many years ago. Although I have taken some licence with the location, the poem seems appropriate for the season.
Alabaster walls aglow
Against the backdrop of night
Embrace the Treasure within.
Her entry, a graceful arch,
Caressed by moonbeams silver,
Easy passage for those desiring tranquility.
Carefully laid pathways, liquid gold
Flow here, flow there
To meander past
Lively quicksilver fountains,
Whose murmurs invite quiet contemplation.
Flowers, plants: monochrome,
Flash steel sparks,
As the breeze draws out their song.
A heavy perfume: exotic
Swirls about, illusive.
Hovers thick, tangible.
Where the wind takes her fancy.
Sweetness offset by musk, the rich, mortal aromas
Of earth and life.
Stately olive trees reach out, fellowshipping
One with another.
Building cool oasis when the sun strikes hot.
Content for now to abide,
Releasing freshness into the cool night air.
Fluted columns rooted deep.
Encircle the lawn: the Lady’s heart.
Icy marble, iridescent under the lunar rays
Casting into the glade
An unearthly, tentative glow…
In her bosom, Jesus, all alone,
A sorely frightened child,
His careworn face buries deep into the grass
Unconscious of the dew.
The Hour of hours drawing closer, ever closer.
He knows what is to come.
He knows the trials ahead.
He knows…He knows...
And He cries out, desperate,
Satan whispers, almost audibly,
Jesus writhes in pain,
“The flesh…the flesh…” He weeps
As the reeking polluted tide tries to sweep Him away.
The devil’s rush of bitter words beating…beating.
“Too much. Too hard.For what?
Stop it now!End it.
…and God says He loves you!”
Relentlessly flood back and forth trying to erode
Powers, principalities poke and prod
Repeating, repeating, repeating.
Twice the Lord seeks men,
Their aid obliterated, enthralled by a disquiet sleep.
The Messiah, at last, stands tall,
His birthright ablaze,
coursing through His veins,
Fervently loud and clear,
Resounding in the Heavens,
The Voice of voices cries out,
“Thy will…Thy will…Thy will be done!”
Surrendering fear, surrendering humanity,
To His Father’s desire.
The last rank
and foul things scuttle away.
In their wake:
Desire: to see this through,
Glory, Glory Halleluiah!
His truth goes marching on!
"Now His betrayer had given them a sign, saying, "Whomever I kiss, He is the one; seize Him." Mat 26:48