Poem: “Friday” by Elizabeth Jennings

 We nailed the hands long ago,

Wove the thorns, took up the scourge and shouted

For excitement’s sake, we stood at the dusty edge

Of the pebbled path and watched the extreme of pain.

 

But one or two prayed, one or two

Were silent, shocked, stood back,

And remembered remnants of words, a new vision,

The cross is up with its crying victim, the clouds

Cover the sun, we learn a new way to lose

What we did not know we had

Until this bleak and sacrificial day,

Until we turned from our bad

Past and knelt and cried out our dismay,

The dice still clicking, the voices dying away.