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  • Writer's pictureDiane Alvarado

Oh gethsemane, Be Not Silent

By Julia Welch- Whispering the Power of Resurrection Day



The Light is too bright

piercing stabs of light and salty river

The heart yearns to belong

but it hurts, it is not comforted

It longs for something deep, steep

It weeps with veers and fears


Wearily, the promise of death seared.



The tongue pleads to remove this fear

Mixed with blood and mud

Air it out until the wet edges of these lips become cracked like dry leaves in winter

An answer? Naught.

‘Tis shut, in the dark silent void

The cave of silence is darker than any night sky or oblique forest

There is no strain of the nightingale’s voice, the garden is poised

Gray people, gray sieves, gray cries and sighs cannot compete

To the back that is turned in silence


Abandoned.




Whoosh swish, rustle, sigh, windless exile of ghost and air

The gray gathers these shards of bread and these spills of wine


These stones in that windless cave


With cracks of light making invisible dust visible

Light; soft, shimmery, earthly

Brilliance punctured with blood,

These cries, these deaf defying hands and feet

Steeped in belonging, deeply, fully satisfied is the Light

He heard.



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