Jesus Wept

In the hour before morning dawn,

Wakened by the sound of weeping,

Deeper than my quiet breathing,

He moves among the night’s dreams.

 

Jesus, weeping, to wake Lazarus,

Calling him forth from his tomb in which he slept.

Now from the other edge of darkness,

He calls for me to wake.

 

I, who am as useless as a shadow,

Frail, thin blood flowing down to

Lungs, to bones, to soul

Reach out into silence, calling him closer.

 

Save me, I pray.  And silence is my prayer.

Wrapped in sheets against the cold,

Tears flowing from eyes onto the bed,

Drifting back to sleep among the dead.