The last healing

After Luke 22:47-53 

In the midst of betrayal,

surrounded by guards

and soldiers, the chaos 

of surprise and upset,

the mutters and curses

of elders and priests,

the kiss to identify, 

a sword drawn and used

to slice a servant’s ear, 

he says no,

enough of this,

stop;

and he reaches

to the servant,

touching him, 

healing him,

restoring him,

and even then,

this last healing,

a sign and proof

demanded all

along, is ignored.

What could not

be done in light

must now be done

in darkness.

 

Photograph by Zalmaury Saavedra via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Sweating blood

After Luke 22:39-46 

He sets himself

apart, as he is known

to do, to pray,

usually a means

to restore the spirit,

restore the strength,

but not this time,

this time a prayer

of, first, avoidance,

understanding what

is to come, and asking

it be taken away, followed

by, second, acceptance

of what must come.

 

The answer is an angel,

a presence to strengthen,

a presence of certainty

of what is imminent, 

and the response is

more fervent prayer,

an agony of prayer,

the words coming

from the agony

of the soul, an agony

so intense that sweat

falls like drops

of blood.

 

Photograph by Mathilda Khoo via Unsplash. Used with permission.

To hear that sound

After Genesis 3:1-19

To hear that sound

in the garden, of walking

in the garden, a music

in its own way, beautiful

yet ominous, terrible

and fierce, to hear

those footsteps is

to revere, to hear

those footsteps is

to fear, they move

with purpose, not idly 

to smell the flowers

but deliberately

in the knowledge

of what has happened.

Photograph by Fachy Marin via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Pond shadows

Walking the garden, I thought

you were being coy, matching

the shadows in the pond.

It was less than that, shadows

creeping through the trees,

dark reflections in the water.

It was more than that, sounds

of shadows entering water,

telling me what I could not hear.

It was exactly that, shadows

disappearing into the dusk

growing around us, then me.

Photograph by Muhammed Kara via Unsplash. Used with permission.

(This poem was submitted to a photo poetry prompt, with a different photo, for the Poets in the Original group at MeWe.)