Gethsemane

We saw him, in his writhing agony,

Our tree trunks are fashioned in the

Image of his suffering

Gnarled, twisted and wrestling

Monuments to his impending piercing

Our leaves rustled in sympathy with his crying

Attempting to pour sweet oil of consolation

upon his darkest moment

Alone we watched with him

The olive trees of Gethsemane

Standing strong with our

Branches raised in moonlit prayer

We are the ancient sentinels

guarding the architect of our pitch and bark

The labyrinth of our roots reach into the Judean

Soil of rock and reddish brown dirt

Reach in to the torment of that night

centuries later we are still alive

Silent witnesses to the scene

the proof that it happened

We held him in the lap of our trunks

We bowed low in mercy at his deepest sighs

We hid in spiritual modesty when the drops of

Blood from his furrowed brows

graced the Adam cursed earth

We shared his void of loneliness

Reaching for his sleeping friends

disciples slow to see his majesty

We understood our role

he framed the pit and pith of our fruit

Forming our spring flowers

to bring fragrance to the honeybee

And when our creator needed us

We were there

Strengthening him with faith’s canopy

We are still there

leafy testimony that it happened

screaming in silence to the reality of those moments

We recoiled at the dancing silhouettes

Of Roman torches and clanking of spear and sword

We listened to the hissing heart of the traitor

merge with our moon-shadows

We saw his betrayal kiss

So the mob would not miss

the Messiah

The fisherman severing the soldier’s ear

The savior healing the meaningless act with his word

And centuries later we saw you, modern poet

Come to our sacred garden in momentary glance

the historical site of that inglorious night

your heart was stunned and your eyes dropped tears

When you saw us, the sentinels of millennia and years

We tell the story

We saw his glory

October, 2010