“Little Gethsemane”

Her hard words slice the soft fog of my indifference,

Crushing the remnants of a tower already torn

Asunder; I am rent & bruised –

Fearing a death as painful as it is illusory.

And yet despite these wounds, still I go

And gently place reminders of our Love,

Silver-threaded, about my neck.

She once was the calm center of my every storm

And an honor it remains to be her promontory;

The Rock upon which her enemies crumble,

The island upon which she may forever know friendship.

And so I fill for her a stronghold of Treasures …

Things small yet strong; brilliant yet subtle –

Anything to make her smile.

God laughs at my plans, hopeless …

There is too little time for too many wonders,

And time charges headlong into the morning –

The morning I am to leave her,

And enter the darkness alone.

Now riding in solitude, alone amongst so many …

Called so often to serve with Love & laughter,

Yet now deep in sadness; deaf to that Call.

A great pain approaches …

Will she run before even arriving?

Will my time end before ours can truly begin?

Will our Love grow cold even as it is kindled?

Here, in my little Gethsemane, I tremble and weep.

And yet still I go willingly to that hill …

Still do I joyfully carry that cross …

Still I go to her for Love.

I feel warmth towards my lack of Faith;

A lack born in lack.

Despite those troubling to-be’s, I return

To this moment, discarding my mourning, I return

To my Mission, despite her cooling, I return …

To Loving her – for her;

To Loving her for Love.

We were – and therefore always will be;

We are – and will shake the foundations of forever.

Thy will, not mine – my God …

… and for my Beloved:  my Love, not thine.

Filed under: Peace-full Poetry by Scaughdt