Gethsemane

I wrote this poem many, many years ago.  I would probably write it differently now, but here’s an offering from my younger self…

Not your sympathy, just your presence is what I need.
You may think I don’t need you because of who I am;
Yet, it is because of who I am … what I am, that I do.

Our time together grows short;
Can’t you stay awake just an hour and watch with me?

Come; tell me of your days as fishermen;
The strain of pulling bursting nets from sparkling blue waters,
Green hills in the distance marking home, guiding your path on pathless seas.

Come; tell me of your families;
The love and laughter, the grief and sorrow.
Tell me of festivals past when families gathered to celebrate, to share, to embrace and remember.

Come; tell me of your dreams;
What you wished on the dark nights on rocky hillsides when we slept beneath the stars.
And your fears – what you will do when I have gone … and yet remain.

Come; talk to me, share with me, pray with me.
For I’ll not see the sparkling waters,
I’ll not feel a brother’s embrace,
And while my dreams transcend earth, and my fears are swallowed up in love,
I would know yours …
to help you …
to guide you …
to comfort you.

I’ve much ahead of me, much that I’d rather not do.
But I must, because of who I am … what I am …
I only wish you would awaken and watch with me.