Pictorial blethers

By blethers

Birdsong in Gethsemane

In the darkling garden
a lone bird drops 
liquid notes like dark blood 
beneath the quiet trees. And then
silence. And in the silence
the old struggle surges
as flesh and soul pull
apart. The body aches
to be the prayer, to feel
the God’s warmth
in the darkness. But
there is only stillness
and the blood’s song
and the everlasting longing
as somewhere far away
innocence sleeps.

I wrote this several years ago on Maundy Thursday, but the bird was singing away tonight in the moonlit garden as we watched. And there was a ladybird in Gethsemane ...

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