Noon
sun dapples through fronds
waving
in almost orchestrated motion,
the
wind replaced by human arms, and hope.
I
am not who you believe I am.
The
donkey is not the most comfortable
of
rides; he bobs and weaves, unused
carrying
a rider on his inexperienced back.
I
am not who you believe I am.
The
crowd from Bethany walking behind,
the
Jerusalem crowd walking toward meet
in
an enthusiasm of excess soon to howl for blood.
I
am not who you believe I am.
Cloaks
and palm fronds are strewn before me,
mixing
with hosannas, all those symbols
of
victory and peace and change and desire.
I
am not who you believe I am.
I
am more.
Photograph: Colorful palm leaves by Petr
Kratochvil via Public
Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
7 comments:
I think we still want to make Jesus out to be someone that he is not..
I like that last line. It's so easy to shortchange Him.
Great, Glynn.
And I think David Rupert has "hit the nail on the head". We still try to make Him into something less, something more in our own image, something far less demanding and far more manageable.
He doesn't really ask us to be willing to give up everything, does He?
He would want us to put a little aside for our family, our mortgage, our pension, wouldn't He?
He is more...so much more....
Beautiful poem bro'!
Silenced by the implication of your words.
good one.
Thank you, Glynn. Exactly. And so well said.
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