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Eli, Eli, lama Sabachthani?
A temple bell clangs through echoing ears.
My vision today
could turn a green leaf brown.
Why do I tilt my head like a bird
just to see its reflection in
a muddy puddle?
Why the need to know
If mud is real or just a mote in my eye?
In your eleventh hour,
in your distress,
why did you utter that accusatory word, 'forsaken'?
Those unrisen words reverberate still.
Body temples crumble away,
the altar returns to eternal flame.
Knowing this, you still cried out.
As a bird's broken wing
un-fluttering,
yet not squelched,
am I.
I die not,
to long dead thoughts.
Forsaken, forsook, forgiven.
My fear of falling
makes me ever the lame pilgrim.
Will you walk a little away,
that I might feel your leaving?
I then might for certain know,
that you are my very own
sacred heart.
For I forget myself
in this long dream of existence,
though, all-unknowing,
I will surely
blunder into the light.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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