a poem in my pocket

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”

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

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

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

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

first fruits of all who must die

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

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