by Rick DeLay – Apr 3, 2021
He set his face towards Jerusalem,
To weep again so soon? At another tomb?
Oh Jerusalem, Jerusalem!
How I long to shelter you ‘neath my wings,
What made for peace lost in that hour
A deux millennial sleep, like snow will follow, (hibernation)
… Her lands lie fallow.
He does not slumber. How can He sleep?
She’s not a praise in all the earth
A pretending dove (Jonah), lost in the deep,
Will anyone pray for just an hour?
Gethsemane’s Will on tear stained stones,
… no broken bones, not even one.
What oil press pours out ruddy soil?
Cursed soil made sweet from ruby beads …
Of ploughed red sweat, thorn crowning deep,
What farmer reaps a flock of sheep?
A little sleep, a little slumber,
Thrice deny Him wide eyed owl
You will question your existence,
by three crows of morning fowl
Black rose scented, weak flesh gloom,
Cephas sobbing … bitter bloom.
Chazak!, Chazak, the solitary Nazarene remains strong through the night!
He takes the cup, His Father’s will,
It’s His to take or leave it, still
To make amends for Man’s proud will,
To still bruised head of Evil swill
He drinks to the dregs Gethsemane’s Will,
Oh Grave and Death where went your chill?
NOT ONLY EARTH BUT HEAVEN QUAKES
”He surely is the Blessed One,
Who comes in the Name of the Blessed One!”
SURELY, THIS ONE IS THE SON OF GOD!
Cyclopic eye on brow of Serpent,
Davidic stone on forehead sunken.
From His side, a born-again Bride,
JERUSALEM!!!! OF FAITH,
More precious than GOLD!
This poem originally appeared on Streams in the Negev, April 4, 2021, and reposted with permission.