a poem in my pocket

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human olive press
squeezes sweat as drops of blood
pleading with Father
“remove this cup from me yet
not my will but yours be done”

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sleepers in garden
cannot stay awake to pray
soldiers with torches
betrayer kisses cheek as
followers flee to shadows

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scourged, mocked, tortured
spikes pounded into wood beams
asphyxiation
forgives ignorance of
cruel executioners

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king breathes agony
sees dear woman’s salty tears
groans, “behold, your son”
beloved disciple stands near
shares inconsolable grief

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darkness cancels light
his earth and heavens protest
bones left unbroken
battle cry: “it is finished!”

first fruits of all who must die

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hard seed in cold ground
his lifeless body buried
decomposition
after three days, he breaks forth
tremor cracks open life’s tomb!

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may we bear witness
broken open by great love
well-watered with truth
growing freely in his light
as resurrection people