The Gardener’s Roses
by Michael R. Burch

Mary Magdalene, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, “Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.”

I too have come to the cave;
within: strange, half-glimpsed forms
and ghostly paradigms of things.
Here, nothing warms
 
this lightening moment of the dawn,
pale tendrils spreading east.

Came to the grave, my shattered heart
Yet aching, did not wish to see
The bruises, wounds that tore apart
My everlasting Majesty. 

Thy mouth that spoke of courage, peace
And promises to always be, 
Did utter cries of agony! 
That horrid day of tragedy! 

Mockery did echo loud, 
"If thou be king, then save thyself!" 
Wished my soul that to that crowd
Thy glory would reveal itself.