Good Friday

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

image via stock.xchng

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.  


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