gethsemane pressing

by Bryce Alan Flurie
Wait for new wine
in the kingdom of the Father
and leave behind
this garden’s horror.
Ask for unpassed cups
while three sleepily
trip toward temptation,
before they scatter like
fruit from a beaten olive tree.

We like Judas
have dipped our bread
in the betrayer’s bowl.
Willing spirits
with weakened weary flesh,
bruised and broken by the
crush of our daily breath.
Wine previously poured;
no remedy for
a sorrow soaked soul.