At A Lingering Moment Near Golgotha

That cross is empty.  Weeping mourners carried

Jesus across Rome's dirt road to be buried

in Joseph's unused tomb.   I stayed behind

trying to reconcile, or be resigned

to, this unspeakable experience,

nine hours or more of blood-curdling suspense.

Thoughts' wild trajectories storm through my mind.

He walked and talked among us all these years.

He made our burdens lighter, wiped our tears

away, and spoke calm peace to our old fears.

Look at the cross:  its sign bears Jesus' name.

Its rugged wood is streaked with His blood's stain.

And we stand idly by, to our great shame.

What future can we hope, now, to obtain?---

bereft, now, of the comfort of His presence.

Our lives will be like old men's convalescence:

trembling and weak, until death stakes its claim.

 

 

Starward

 

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Pungus's picture

Adelphoi Adaptations

Brother, Sister, Dolls.       Wade the treachery

Winter speaks pure like amend of snow trail

Moments       for feature only swept by mind.

 

We've itch to signify         standards of twine.

Twins of the burden wine,       we've creating

Reformation                         and every nuance;

 

Neverendless wont                          of eternity

For which reason             again? The Messiah

Savior and Salvation                 stays certainly.