A WALK ON THE PATH OF DESTINY

I walk near the Rabbi Jesus,
Dwelling
In the hope of his words,
Knowing
And not knowing what will happen.

On the path,
The color of blood is on the wind,
Cold and darkening.

We hear stories of lashes and nails,
A groaning earth and
Clouds
Redder than wine, and
Yes,
Sometimes I am afraid, and
Think
To turn back.