Tuesday, April 6, 2010

The Garden

Suffer not, ye little olive branches
Heavy with the burden that He layeth upon thee
The quiet still longing and remembering
Moonlight filters scattered mourning on
Dew tear covered vines in stillest darkest night

Thy prayer flees on doves wings to thy fathers heart,
Suffering seals your humanity,
is the ointment to my own humanity, the
healing salve to my salvation
Turbulent is the storm that stirs your soul

In thy angst and thy tender cries
That echo from stone wall to stone hearts
Thou knowest the time is at hand
In thy soul awakens the courage
to prepare thyself for the battle at hand

They knowest not what they do
Slumber deep and turning sleep they don’t abandon you
They are amidst thee in thy heart
And help thy spirit preparest for the long day
Thy soul recoils and thy hands are covered in blood

As thy cup drains dry, drop by drop
thy will recedes like a waning tide
and thy fathers will saturates thee
satiates and consumes thee
binds to thee with blood and love

thy will unbroken
thy body broken
thy soul sings in the shadow of men

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