under layers of dust
wise men in caves
break bones and bread
slaving at a history
no one ever knew
striving for a salvation
no one ever knows
or perhaps only for peace
left instead cursing
the cold and
the Christ who never came

they look at old San Pedro
outside Gethsemane asleep
dreaming of the God
in the flowers
where he lay
by Christ weeping
dreaming of the God
in a lover's touch
so sweet so gentle
yet gone so far away
they see how he dreams
of the God in the heavens
oh, to hold his hand
oh, to kiss his face
what wonder it must be
while Christ lay weeping
and the pharisees come
forever closer

thirty pieces of silver
bought the Son of God
for a bargain

wise men in caves
perhaps sit silent
now and forever
under layers of dust
no longer cursing
no longer breaking
only sitting
dreaming of God
like Peter in the flowers
like Christ weeping
waiting for a way out
now we all sit silent
staring upwards
searching for answers
in a Christ who never came