by Christopher Raley
Jesus drove courage before Him
from the garden to the hill.
The only Man to rightly claim His death,
He willed it tightly to its time
and thrust the mark deep within Him.
It is 12:30 am and I am a coward
pushing pills over bent body frame.
I have no right, no jurisdiction here
just a flame in my muscles,
sores on my skin and a miserable
tradeoff: what drives out pain
also drives out sleep at 12:30 am.
Man of pity, what language was it
you spoke to form me? I know
I chose badly. Is it necessary,
after all You did, that the choices
should howl behind my tracks?
I have no courage to drive before me.
I have stumbled out of the garden
and the hill is not far ahead.
Thrust the mark in if you must
but carry me there if you will.
I know now I chose badly
and I have no courage
to drive before me.