I follow your voice across the fields, dark and wheat.
I am a part, torn apart, from a whole.
You are my completeness –
The fingers of our soul-shards interlace.
The train to Gethsemane, its awe-filled roar –
Pulls the Christ out of me.
He takes me upon his cross, upon his back.
We run through the fields, dark and wheat.
Oh Jesus, do not forsake me
My brother in flesh, here comes my train:
Twisting steel and spitting sparks,
curving and coiling, digging
claws into the hide of the Earth.
In the garden we will meet, kiss, and sanctify the soil.
© "Neon Veil" (All rights reserved)
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| Old train © Jennifer Phillips |
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