Friday, ninth Hour

Today we meditate, remember the Cross, Christ, the crucifixion and what it means for our own lives.

Friday, ninth Hour

I avert my eyes, squeeze tight the lids,
the vision of red stains, ruby rivulets
inking down hewn wood.
the shreds of flesh embedded.

I cannot block out hearing
sounds of struggle, catcalls, mocking cries
the wails, the sobs, the shrill screams—
the shuddering ragged gasps, the sighs,
the grasp for one more breath…

All the long road, the desperate hope
death to be transformed into something else.
God’s avenging angels charging
straight from heaven to smite
all those taking a hand in this sacrilege.

A litany of prayers never ceasing
formed from my withered lips
followed the stricken man up Calgary hill
crested into groans of my own
with hammers through his fists.

Teacher, rabbi— you do not know my name,
someone whose eyes you caught once
while you taught on some deserted
stretch of barren soil,
someone who changed because of your wise words,
somehow hoping to hear you speak again.

And now your anguished cry to God—
penetrates and wrenches to His throne,
cuts into the marrow of my bones.
I open eyes in a day shrouded in darkness,
see only the garment of earth’s despair.

c.Darlene Moore Berg


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Filed under Easter, Religious

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