Raymond A. Foss Poems

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A cloud descending, shimmering robes
holy white, beyond human ability
the Son of Man, the Son of God
claimed by the creator, out of the whirlwind
his own, to be followed, to be listened to
well pleased, beloved son
Steeled by the Father, the son
Up on the mountaintop,
down into his passion
the cup, crimson, soon to his lips
the blood of the lamb
soon to be spilt
Holy white, burned within
preparing for the prophesy
to be utterly fulfilled

February 21, 2009
Mark 9:2-9

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