Poetry from the pen of Pat Marsh

Tuesday, 21 April 2009

The Crushing

crushed
he said

this
from one
so ultra calm
so quietly unflappable

my soul
is crushed with grief
crushed to the point of death

not that he needed
to voice it
his whole body language
betrayed the truth of it

suddenly
everything had changed
our Passover celebration
become
a veritable nightmare
the flight to freedom
revisited
as headlong plunge
into deep despair

what kind of God was this
this Abba
whom he cried to?

what kind of God
would choose to crush
salvation
into being?

what kind of God
was this?

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