The disciples.
The light has left the crowd, but our eyes burn
The red which cloaks your donkey’s dirty feet.
This is a strange way, brother, to return.
You promised us a kingdom, and we yearn
To see you bless to bread our fallen wheat.
The light has left the crowd, but our eyes burn
As when you taught your friend to rise and spurn
His grave for flesh again: the old, sad, heat.
This is a strange way, brother. To return
our hearts to good, what need for patience? Learn
us how to praise, and make this world your seat–
The light has left the crowd, but our eyes burn.
The trees are twisted sorrow, this garden churns
With fear we cannot drown, cannot repeat.
This is a strange way. Brother, to return
Is all we ask, and now we but discern
The blood that wraps us like your burial sheet.
The Light has left the crowd, and our eyes burn.
This is a strange way, brother, to return.
.
ethelweard 