In a silent calm
We floated in light
Unaware of the surrounding turbulence,
Feasting only on ether and wonder.
Then hungry at times for this world
We would bicker, drink, eat, fish,
Swagger, return to our families,
Make love to our wives,
Forgetting if he were more
Than a man among men.|
Now he is dead:
Spikes driven in his wrists,
Pain in every wooden muscle,
Thorns in his brow,
Lifted heavenward until, pierced, life deserted him.
I saw him doubt, forgive, thirst, shout,
And go limp.
My soul is swollen in grief,
The salt of unshed tears coats my eyes and throat.
Restless, I am also inert, my will flung to the winds.
At the base of my spine burns
A small, white-hot flame.
It is more than my fear.
What is this anger?
At the last he ran headlong
Into the arms of death --
Taunting it, teasing it,
Thrust and parry.
How dare he die?
Who am I now,
Circumcised body and soul?
I hear the silly clamor of the women
Outside the entrance to this upper room.
Did they anoint his body thus,
With no respect for the dead?
Copyright, 2020, Pat Grauer
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