While Meditating Upon the Passion
I long to be the teardrop
Rolling ever so slowly down your cheek
Searching the curves and creases of your most holy face
Lightly kissing moisture upon your dry lips.
I long to be the air that becomes your breath
Bought with your agony as you push up to draw me in,
Absorbed into your body offered to the Father,
Flowing mercy from your wounds,
Exhaling love upon the world.
I long to be the cry
Welling up from the depths of your soul
Blinded by the night that envelops it.
Rushing to meet you as the all-consuming pain
draws you deeper into the darkness,
Finally bursting forth a helpless scream,
The cry of God - to God -
I long to be the last beat of your heart,
Suspended there in time
Until the Father grants you life anew
And then -
Captured there in eternity,
A prisoner of Divine Love.
- Brenda Stinson