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Gethsemane

The cup of pain brought to my lips this night
An ordained offering of bitter wine
Tomorrow’s battle grips my stomach tight
Dread and obedience in prayer combine.
I must drink its dregs, swallow searing gall
Dozing disciples take their callous nap
While I stay up to be betrayed by all
Denials rushing up like burning sap.
Alone, no cheering crowds, hosannas loud
Just my Father’s will, the heaviest crown
His graveyard garden and sky’s sunless shroud
I wait for them to come and take me down.
Now is the power of darkness, now glances
Glint at my face – now Judas advances.
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Christopher Villiers is an English Catholic poet with a Masters degree in Theology. He likes to walk, read and converse with cats.

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