In the Shadows of Gethsemane

In the dark, desolate garden of night,  

Where trembling souls gathered in sorrow's plight,  

There He knelt with a burden vast and grim,  

Consumed by anguish from the approaching doom within.

Tears flowed as silent testament to pain,  

Each droplet an echo of humanity's strain.  

In the lonely gloom of olive trees' despair,  

He wrestled with the weight of a cross too heavy to bear.

Bitter sweat like blood marked His brow,  

A poignant sacrifice, He could not disavow.  

In that cursed hour, despair and dread intertwined,  

As He pleaded for strength to free His tormented mind.

The bitter taste of agony filled the air,  

While voices of mockery rose in a cruel affair.  

Insults and jeers, like arrows, pierced the night  

“King of the Jews,” they spat without respite.

He suffered the sting of derision and scorn,  

A solitude in His anguish, deeply mourned.  

Every lash, every jeer, every scornful call  

Wove a torment as His spirit began to fall.

He bore the weight of all sin and disdain,  

In lonely Gethsemane, He felt the world’s pain.  

The agony of betrayal, the burden of shame,  

In every heart-wrenching moment, none would be the same.

As the crown of thorns pressed His gentle head,  

The echoes of insults and bitter words were spread.  

Pain unrelenting, the agony of mortal plight  

A silent cry in the dark that marked His final fight.

In the shadows of death, He embraced His fate,  

Suffering in silence, no reprieve, no escape.  

A solemn sacrifice on the cross displayed,  

A testimony of love in torment unswayed.

Thus stands the memory of that mournful day,  

Of sorrow, suffering, and wounds that will not fade away.  

In silent reverence we recall His excruciating pain

A love unyielding, etched in eternal refrain.