Poetry from the pen of Pat Marsh

Tuesday 21 April 2009

Private Moment

. Mark 11.11

silently
reflectively,
adulation of the crowd
still ringing in his ears,
he climbed
the temple steps
entered once more
the place
that had drawn him back,
the holy space
that had been ever drawing him
over thirty three years of life
and long generations of history

destiny
held him
in a private moment
inside the great
echoing silence
of the sacred space

it was late
it was lonely
the end was near

the crowds didn’t understand

silently,
before the
place of sacrifice,
his hands
caressing the altar
as one would a woman,
he remembered Isaac’s son
and the sparing
and knew
that this time
it had to be different

and the coldness
of the polished stone
shivered through him

it was cold
it was late
it was lonely

the end

was near

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