Lost In Translation



A poem for the Feast of the Ascension



He spoke of leaving

scripture as being fulfilled

Did we sense the change?

He'd proved a Resurrection

that was his, not ours


Every filament 

was radiant with new life

Something had happened

Nothing was as it had been

The Rubicon crossed


His transparent eye

beheld another country

Jerus'lem conquered

but the Romans still held sway

and their coin was king


Glory fled the tomb

We looked back with nostalgia

laughing children and

lepers cleansed, the lame striding

toward a future


Greater miracles

he promised we'd do than his

We couldn't see it

not without his live person

nerving our belief


He drew us into

the beam of his new vision

Not absence, presence

Flesh must lose reality

Spirit is power


In cloud he lost us,

or we him: we watched transfixed

to see him gaining 

paradise at our expense

At least it felt so.


Why no bitter pain?

No agony of parting?

It was as if his

heart, mind and limbs were ours now

torment held in check


The ether penned him,

while angels held us captive

to a vital theme

upon the cusp of longing

and expectancy...




© Copyright Rosy Cole 2010 and 2015

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