Spiritual poems and ponderings

(Good) Friday

What did you call it??

Good Friday?

Good?

How?

How, when the light has been stamped out

How, when we lost our best friend

How, when heaven is silent

And the night echoes with men screaming out for blood

And the earth soaks in the blood, spilled

Quaking in shock, like the rest of us

When the one who turned everything upside down

Is spilled out

Buried in the rock

Hidden

 

How can you call it good when the prophets seem to have found their spotless lamb

A perfect man

The first and last we ever hoped for

Swallowed hell

For Barabbas

For me?

For all that we could have should have done and been

Do we all have blood on our hands?

All have HIS blood on our hands

If we all have his blood on our hands

Then

It’s washing us clean

Blood on the door post

Death will pass us by

Fear is no longer winning

Slavery is ending

There’s a home for us, a haven for us, a hope for us

OH…

Good

Friday

 



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