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

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