I hope you found flowers in Gethsemane; and help in the landscape of night.
With accusation and threat weighing heavy, I hope you drew magic from the dark Jerusalem sky.
And dismantled by dismay at such loveless assault – truth-twisting foes and fair weather friends – were you put back together, just a little, by kind eyes around you; by the love you beheld in the gloom?
And when only you knew what you faced, the abyss you entered, I hope your battered loveliness found stronger roots among the bent silhouettes of olive trees, companions in those hours.
For loveliness was all you were in the garden that night; and all you’d ever been –
loveliness, light and truth, your intention every day; though feeling now like a crime, a waste of blessed time, when ‘Crucify!’ is all their breath.
And while years pass, the garden remains; we know it well, when the shit-storm strikes.
And so still the hope, and always the prayer, that you find flowers in your Gethsemane
And help along the way.
And hope along your way
