He is not so gentle as they say or think
A thundercloud on some nights,
A hurricane of sorrow on others.
No one sees this private man as I see him
His hands clenched in madness one moment
Folded in prayer the next .
At night it is I who calms him down
Removes his robe, kisses his face.
I wrap my arms round his burdened back,
Rub balm on his shoulders, so heavy laden.
He needs me as the others need him-
Which causes fury in a few of them.
Peter lashes out in jealousy and rage
I don’t tell Yeshua, though he seems to know.
They call him Master
though he asks them
only to master themselves,
to make of their lives
what he is making of his.
He calls them to manhood
but they will not grow up.
“What you see me do, you can do, too” he says
but they do not believe, they will not try.
This man is mine as I am his.
I drink his sorrow
and taste his sweetness.
He is the light of my every dawn
I am the star in his eastern sky.
