Gethsemene

While the faithful slumber not far from me I pray alone, upon a rock, beneath a tree. Penitent, exhausted, and quite aware Of what lies ahead, and cannot share— Nor would—this burden that I know is mine, Some task ordained by hell or heaven, profane or divine. I close my eyes, and know my knee is bent Because my will to fight anew is all but spent; Imagine, in that quiet moment, what will come With me apart, whom those I love grew from, While they breathe deep, grow tall beneath a rushing sky; See, when they think of me, they ache, feel loss, can only cry. Is this the sum and total, then, of my reward For dreaming common dreams of joy, but with no sword? Defenseless still, I watch the army's sure advance And, praying, know my prayers fall short; This is an awkward dance Of desperation, sorrow and heartfelt regret... But still I'm in the garden, the dew sheer and wet Upon the blossoms near me, so I raise my eyes and wonder: What fruit shall follow flower in this tree I'm under? What fruit shall fall here after me? I pray alone, upon a rock, beneath a tree.