Gethsemane (Lent Poems 7)

And in the dark a kneeling man,
Arms outstretched,
Beads of sweat and blood comingled:
Father if this cup might pass…
Friends asleep while keeping watch;
Amid the cries for mercy, some
Lucid strains of prayer for them
Who cannot keep from sleeping now:
Not for some swift rescue plan
From high above, a spaceship or a floating boat
To take them from this troubled land,
No UFOs or rapture kits, just strength
To keep until the end. And in and out,
In and out, float the strains of prayer inside
Their sleeping heads, moments caught,
Recorded, treasured, other strains
Left unheard, strains of a heart ripped
Right in twain: the wills to live
And to obey; the cry for strength
To persevere, or be delivered:
A prayer which can but hope to be
Half-fulfilled and half-denied.

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