Good Friday-Via Peter

They bound him and lead him away.

Rage filled my heart.

I lunged at them. I drew my sword.

I managed to cut off one of their ears before he stopped me

And in all his goodness, held me at bay.

He laid his hand on my shoulder and looked me deep in the eye. “Peace,” said he and then healed the wound of his captor.

They lead him away.

They took him to Pilot.

Who washed his hands clean

Who could blame him?

Who could have such an atrocity

Hanging over their head?

Three times.

Three times, just like he said,

I denied him.

“You were with him!” someone would say.

“No.” I replied, and quickly made my departure.

What if they wanted me, too?

So like a coward, I hid, while the scene unfolded before me.

My best friend, there, in front of the merciless crowd

Who just last week sang his praises.

Blood poured from his head, his back.

He could barely stand, his state so weakened, his body so frail.

I watched from afar as a murderer was released in his stead.

I blended in with the crowd as they chanted,

“Crucify him! Crucify him!”

I hid in denial as they took him up the hill,

As a stranger helped ease his burden,

Until they reached the top

Where the sound of the hammer

Echoed in my ears

Where his screams

Rang out across the land,

I cowered in the back

As they stabbed him in the side

And offered him bitterness

To satisfy thirst.

And in that final moment,

I saw 

The ultimate look of despair,

Gushing through tears,

Running through sweat,

Pouring out through blood and puss

And I heard him give a whimper

As he offered up his spirit

And his body went limp.

And I wailed like the child that I am,

For the horror before me,

And the horror within me.

I

 curled up in a ball,

Drew my cloak o’er  my face,

And sobbed

And shook

And lost all control

As the thunder crashed on

At the passing of Hope.