The Passion: Stations of the Cross


I Grove of Night


There is a bigger plan. I am a part of it,

Though I do not know the way.

I’d gladly pass on this cup but

I take it up and drink deeply.

Yet it be poison to my blood,

I thirst for change.


II Betrayal


You, too, thirst for change.

What is left of my drink I leave

For you, my friend. My judge.

I hope you know, when

It is your turn to drink, that

I could not have played my part

Without you playing yours.


III Denied


We are weakest

When the cock crows.

My foundations shake as

I wait in darkness

To be denied.

Once, twice.

A third time:

My friend?

No, you mistake me.


IV The Mob


I thought I was wise,

Letting them choose.

But when they pass the blame,

The masses know no mercy.


V King of Thorns


Biting into his brow,

They whisper, hissing.

The thorns are like caresses,

Their mockery like prayers.

A king of fools, they think.

The thorns will bloom,

Though nobody expects them to.


VI Eating Dust


Now every step is pain,

And every breath is laboured.

Take up thy cross.

I said I would.

I have, and try,

And fail. Now my mouth is

Full of dust but I hunger for

Sustenance of a different kind.


VII When all other lights go out


I have promised,

I am the promise.

Don’t cry for me,

I fulfil my purpose

To feed your hunger.

I am tended to:

A cool cloth to wipe

My face shines a light

In the darkest of places.


VIII The Gardener


Man from the country,

Takes up my burden.

See the world transform

Before your eyes,

A garden, green and tended.

With care he goes about his duty.

What he does for me,

He does for all of you.

Mention him in your stories,

His line will carry on

And see the world whole.


IX The Tree


Now here I am, nailed,

Strung, hung on the tree of life.

Wounded by the spear,

Dripping drops of wisdom

To fructify the parched earth.

Sacrificed to Myself,

Becoming more Myself

With every trickling tear

My estranged body cries.


X Repentant Thief


I am flowing out of my body.

After the purging fire,

Be the river with me.

Let me guide you

Towards the Ocean

To mingle and

Be part of

The Great Joining.


XI Heirs


I leave my heirs to tell my story.

One unto the other I bind you,

To live in this world

That by my passing I save for you.

A new age dawns without My miracles.

Make me a place in it by sharing

My inheritance.


XII My work is done


My purpose is fulfilled.

My work is done.

I have rewritten what will be

And made the promised future

An eternal Now.




Out of a moment of terror, doubt,

Pain, and darkness I journey on.

I would have warned you, did warn you,

That I won’t share in this new age.

I take with me the Queen of Stars and

Join the prophets in their retreat.

Stay with you? I do, I am.

The Western shores, your paradise,

Is my heaven everywhere.


XIV The West


I stand staring at emptiness.

Where have you gone that I cannot follow?

Will not you let me come, won’t anybody answer?

Almost I think I hear silver voices singing,

Weaving miracles into the fabric of the world,

Parting the greying mists for me to understand.

And I return to say there is

No ending for this story.

Only a continuous beginning,

Where we know You

Now and now and now.


©jsmorgane Ostara 2016

Sonata in C Major

I know a girl –

I don’t pretend to know her well –

But something in the way

She talks to you and me

Reminds me of a piece of music…

… Mozart on the piano.


Right hand fluidly flitting

Over the keys, a happy little tune.

Contained, well-structured, perfectly timed.

Left hand introducing a deeper theme,

The smallest finger tracing a line –

C#, d, b, a, g, f#, b, g, a, g…


Both hands in treble clef but

Slowly showing a darker meaning,

A different story hidden

Amongst the cheerful notes.


That’s how she is – fun and easy,

And all so well laid out,

The clothes, the smiles, the city trips,

The babysitter organised.

For pick-up the family-friendly limousine,

The carefree wave of hand ‘Goodbye!’


Yet we all know

Who sits behind the wheel,

And Mozart’s music starts to play

Each time her lover’s name finds mention

In light-hearted conversation about hats

And this year’s Season.


The minor variation in the Andante –

Heart-rending and beautiful,

Like her artistry, pretty and bright

And gone smoky at the edges.

Like Mozart’s sonata a masterpiece.


When I play it on a long, warm

Summer’s evening,

I step into her half-divined,

Half-imagined life and marvel at

Two works of art, wondering if

I can trace the one –

Like my fingers do the other –

To an ending in a major key…


© jsmorgane (May 2014)