Gethsemane Poem by Butch Decatoria

Get in a last word, since silence is golden,
then in the end, all that is spoken
betrays the honest truths;
the value of sharing a meal
sustenance to feel
fulfilled, rebuked or pleased,
now that talk is cheap...

Be more profound to take me aback,
like a gust of wind through hallowed doors
to the hollows of burial and sage and prayers
where subservience of love
denies the body of its flesh
to please the ephemeral ghosts
Suffer as we must—awake a last…

So tell me how deep your adoration's lashes
if all the deserts we've traversed
meant as much as the time of my worth
will it bleed- those words for me?
Are your words as bread or food
uplifting in the roots of you?

I am no shepherd nor are you a herd of sheep,
a flock unable to fly without a mind to think
I am just another king likeany like you
the last word at the rabble
a dying flame from the candles drinking wine,
beneath the sky of olives and infinite eyes
here with the stain of un-seeing
in search for a well that will not dry
for a familiar day of kind of rain...

Tell me what's a good word without one
made by fisted hand of man,
one that is like music / laughter
a celebration's feast
teach me instead,

and please don't preach...

What worth is made when words are bade
like a trader of slaves to whom he's paid,
or a master in his own house at a maid?
Such business is moot in its absolutes,
a kiss on the cheek without a word
multiplicitious and astute
obvious in the eyes of company kept
brother in the dark I heard wept

A tree in shadows hangs the rotten fruit
Ananke
dangles like most words must do
from the mouth must taste as dung
often done -invisible daggers to the heart
untruths
then less and less of brotherly caress
nor some kind of familiar can be found
no infinite wonder

the one and only one

You,
whom I have been
preparing to be made new,
to wake from the pain of this blister
these mirages we hunger and run to,
don't speak what I want to know
I already have seen the final show
and words are only words
unheard by the deaf heavens
selective with their ears to cherubs glee
what is found when the One above
or any of the many stars that see
our globe in desert blizzards,

ill regard as plenty as snow
nothing of the kind, or good in kind,
what word equals

the image of everlasting
Oh
just a sip...?

There are only so many words
in a universe of infinite light
language can be made like jars of clay

simple like breaking (of hearts and day)

if eyes were speaking through our tears
how loud must we shout "Love"
before there's nothing that's enough
to keep us thusly
home not just merely
an EYE to clear / and still, I am
with you here.

Push away the old world words
that once poured into my cup,
I want home to be as heaven is esteemed
take this cup away from me
blood of transcendent poetry...