Feminine 101

Tonight I sit in silence stunned by what I saw.
Wind of this lonely isle where I now withdraw,
Whistles humble songs through the salted air.
Ev’n the wave’s glistening swell can’t compare
With the hope, the overwhelming longing
That in my aged breast is dawning.

.
With my brother, I was called to wonder,
We were laughingly named sons of Thunder.
We were fiery, ambitious, and far too proud.
Our mother’s request could not be allowed.
“Are you able to drink the cup I will drink?”
Of course we could! We didn’t even blink.

I have seen, now, what was in His chalice,
A fury, a judgment, a righteous malice.
Before such wrath, I am utterly undone,
Except for the love of the promised Son.
We followed Him and we knew He was special.
But we didn’t know what dwelt in that vessel.

.

Even on the heights of that lofty peak,
With veil drawn aside we were given a peek.
Even then we didn’t really understand,
Who He was and all that He planned.
In our bumbling and woeful ignorance,
He lovingly marked us itinerants.

.
On lonely Patmos, in my current endeavor,
I feel that now more keenly than ever.
When voice of overshadowing, terrible cloud,
Bid we heed “Beloved Son” we were rightly cowed.
So much we didn’t grasp of what was said,
And argued at length that He should rise from the dead.

.
Odd that His death should make so much clear,
That His resurrection give us ears to hear.
At that famous supper, those He loved gathered close.
Laid my head on His breast whom He loved most.
No longer I dare demand to be first.
Since of His servants I may be the worst.

.
I remember that day, at the foot of His cross,
The sky grew dark and I thought all was lost.
When He commissioned, “Behold your mother!”
That was the day He first made me his brother.
The next time He did, he still wore grave’s perfume,
He called our Father, us brothers, this side of the tomb.

.
In the setting sun, an old man has glimpsed His glory.
Obedient, I record the exultant end of the story.
A beloved son waits all these long years,
For tender, scarred hands to wipe away his tears.
Who am I that my robes be washed in the blood?
I bear no greater title than the one whom He loved.

If you haven’t figured it out yet, this one is about the Apostle John. It was inspired both from his gospel account and the book of Revelation. You can read more of my poetry here.