Gethsemane

The cold of winter comes
and sinks
into an abyss dark and deep
oozing pain and anguish

Trying not to sleep
I vacillate
for fear the dreaded ghosts will come

Gather round
behold
the noonday fire
bleak
into the sunset gone

Alone
I gaze into a troubled sea
of hidden immortality
and my unconscious fate

No time to settle
or create
and find
the breath of heaven
in this windswept sand
the help of heaven for this writhing gait

Instead I shiver
cold
upon this piercing rock
and wait

Bruce Cooper

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