Good Friday

A prequel to last year's poem, Don't Look For Him Among the Graves.

Good Friday

“My God, My God,” His wretched cry,

“Why have you forsaken me?”

But no answer came to the man

Suffering on Calvary.

For the gruesome work had long been planned

It was what He came to do

And all that had now come to pass

Proved the Scriptures true.

Crushed He was, the Shepherd Good,

For the sake of all His flock,

He took our sins upon Himself

Upon that cursed rock.

Pierced in His hands and in His feet

Blood flowing from His side

Dark were hearts and dark the sky

The hour my Savior died.

He breathed His last, was taken away

And in the rising gloom

The bloody cross of Christ stood empty

As soon would the tomb.

Egg and Twig