Of all my writing, I am most proud of this piece. I wrote it for Good Friday '17, to perform in front of the largest Friday-night service we ever have. By God's grace, I did not throw up or collapse or utter gibberish (during my performance...), and I had a great time. This poem describes the Crucifixion and the events directly before it. A potential flaw, however, is that it describes nothing after Christ's death - for example, the Resurrection, without which the Crucifixion would be without point and we would still be slaves to death. I considered writing a second poem describing the Resurrection, and perhaps I shall in the future - but, for now, this is all I have written. Enjoy. (Note: The first instance of a foreign language is of the Norwegian language, a dialect I am learning and thoroughly enjoying. The line "Purpurkappe og tornekrone på han" means "Cloak of purple and crown of thorns on him". I translate it in the next two lines as "Cloak of purple and crown of thorns/Upon the Holy Father’s son!". The second instance of a foreign language is the Hebrew "Eli! Eli! Lema Sabachthani?" for "My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?". It is found in Matthew 27:46. The third instance is Greek "Τετέλεσται". It is the New Testament word for Jesus's words "it is finished", which he uttered on the cross. In Greek, it means "paid in full", meaning that the debt we owe God as sinners is paid, and we are free of its burden.) Zion's King [not to be confused with "Lion King"] Before him crept the shadows, like serpents Slithering, whispering deceit and sorrow Withering the olive grove which slept – Touching the vine and root And the thirst and the twist of the leaves In the midnight immersed. – But casting not breath on the unfallen fruit. A thread of moonlight through the labyrinth weaves In milky-white quicksilver tread, upon eyes In which sorrow has wept and will once again weep. May the cup that is mine Be shattered, its contents returned to the vine, the remnants Be scattered, the fragments returned to the deep, but – Your will be done. Come, and arise from your sleep. Behold The one who betrayed me is near. Pray now, be bold That you may not surrender again to the fear Which had within you a stronghold. Hear me! Withhold Your hand from the sword – live not by the spear; – Be not again into slavery sold. Behold! Be as witness The one who betrayed me betrays me again with a kiss. Purpurkappe og tornekrone på han – Cloak of purple and crown of thorns Upon the Holy Father’s son! Zion, where is your hosanna In the highest, hosanna! Hail our king! While all of Heaven mourns. Zion; why do you not sing? The Savior of sinners, whom Heaven adores, Of scoffers, of tax-collectors – he is yours. The man whom you fix to a cross, with three bolts, Is the king you received on the back of a colt. Behold! They now offer our King bitter wine But linger we shan’t, for the hour is near When Zion shall strike at the root of the vine And pray that the surviving leaves disappear – Behold! Now the sunlight upon all the leaves Is hung on a cross between two common thieves. This is Jesus, the King of the Jews. Below Him the soldiers cast lots in the dust and the darkness For things which surrender to rot and to rust, And the daytime grows slender, in the cloak of a shadowless night. “Jesus, the King of the Jews” – and suddenly the every sin of the world – tied into the Earth, Cries into the heavens: Eli! Eli! Lema Sabachthani? My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me? The Father turned away his eye. He could not see. Jesus cried, in dying, Out once more And yielded his spirit to Heaven. Τετέλεσται. Thunder spoke across the blackened sky, a sea of roaring waves. The curtain of the temple rent – The rock split, the stones cried out the mourning of a thousand graves – because Zion was silent. Τετέλεσται. It is finished. All is paid.
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When I wrote this I was struggling with a sense of isolation and inability to communicate, of being trapped behind a mask I put up in public. I think this is something we all must work on. But in this aloneness - I wish not to call it "loneliness" here - is God and his voice. While loneliness is not a good thing, it may persuade us to turn to God; and, as we know, we need every little push in the right direction. Enjoy this short poem. Loneliness Loneliness, that bitter dress The bitterness of knowing this Is nothing more, and nothing less Than timid bliss in deep depress - Is nothing more than broken bless And knowing this: That You are the silence which now I implore, The song which in time I will again profess. And when I choose to receive and not ignore That Glorious Name: That which I shall confess. Mid/late 2016 found me writing fewer poems and more songs. I wasn't satisfied with this, as I have always written a lot of poetry (comparative to song). This was one of my first attempts to write more of it. This poem is about the cross and Jesus's death upon it. The "hill" is Calvary. The "shadow" is the shadow of the cross, and it is being compared to "the centered mast" of a ship. The "wanderer" is an unbeliever and the "well" is God's gift of grace. The "mourning garments" are death and are laid upon Jesus's "steady breast"; thus, he is, assumedly, conquered by death (although we all know that it is He who conquered it). The "shepherd" is God the Father turning away as our sin lays the Lamb of God "at rest." |