I scraped my knees in agony in the rose garden blooming crimson and scarlet at my chest and throat gasping that last rattling gurgle to god in Gethsemane is green and grey eyes searching skyward hands clasped as the spirit is willing,
but the flesh is so weak.
Mother come to me
Show me the way 
and the light
that I have only dreamed about

High upon the clouds

questioning aloud
  I beseech thee.

   "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?"

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