listen to the wind that is weeping.
now she parades her woe at the forthcoming passing,
who will expire today.
the silent garden last night,
of trepidation became visible at first hesitant light.
temple guards under Caiaphas' contrived order,
lay dirty coarse hands and help partake in ritual murder!
Anointed One, the Precious Saviour!
dear friend, perhaps take His place this approaching hour?
rough ropes and wounding whips and sheathed sword,
Gethsemane in search. For He who was the Chosen Lord.
He not heal the man with the deformed hand? Preach upon a far hill?
flock and breath new life into a precious little girl?
that predicted day piercing nails punctured His gentle healing hands.
dear friend accept just one nail into your outstretched palm?
hear how the silent wind now screams
visible lacerated body now hangs motionless.
that place of the skull,
sombre and still.
His bleeding, bruised feet,
soldiers, swore and mocked and bet
comforting sacred attire.
the prophet predicted this once before?
to the sacred lore?
you dear friend have rebuked those soldiers,
slipped away into the darkening shadows?
that splintered cross He hears
thief's pleading, despondent words:
His noble head cruel thorns, still sharpened
bleeding flesh, upon Him so still and so languid.
you dear friend accept just one ferocious thorn
your own soft pampered skin?
the final tortuous hour of distinction,
can it appears quench the mobs desecration,
agonizing final minutes of Him,
not, nor had ever tasted sin!
His noble head He spoke:
those few soothing words, all who seek His grace will be saved!
you dear friend subdue that sickening crowd,
silently ashamed with poised head bowed?
stifling darkness descends upon that grieving place.
seeks answers but is that shame upon his face?
however upon the delicate features of Claudia his wife,
that on that cross He offered all, yes even His life!
you aware dear friend how much He suffered,
and for me; how much He silently endured?
last He GAVE UP THE GHOST!
behind to stare at such a sombre sight.
he from Arimathaea offer the garden tomb?
His bruised but not broken body could lay in that sheltered catacomb?
sorrowful women would quietly arrive,
gentle hands, ointments and spices, for Him would they lovingly prepare.
you, dear friend, have brought an individual offering
in your own chosen shortcoming?
in the settling mists of that Easter morning,
tomb is empty and uninviting.
breathless disciples arrive and stare in wonder,
radiance of angels and their princely power!
the love in Magdalene's eyes the first He viewed
He appeared to the chosen multitude?
dear friend, now as this stanza
loudly to the beloved: