Poetry from the pen of Pat Marsh

Tuesday, 21 April 2009

Bittersweet Gethsemane

olives
rained down like bullets
on the ground,
branches
violently shook

his face
contorted in pain,
his clenched fists
roared against the tree
as if flailing in anguish ‘
against the totality
of his creation,
the whole
sorry mess of it
and this moment
it had led him to

his was a tough love,
love of the toughest
most bittersweet kind

and now,
his whole life
hurtling towards its climax,
his divinity
fought the intensity
of mortal weakness
and his human face
revealed itself

Abba
take this cup away


anger
grief
vulnerability
wrestled with the calling

tensions
exploded from within him
as the inner battle
raged

until finally
it was over

he was spent

his whole body
slumped,
relaxed exhaustion
overcame him
and the greater calling
restored itself
to its rightful place
within his mind

in a whisper
the words came

yet not my will
but yours
be done

peace
strengthened him

the hour
had come

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