A Poem For Good Friday



Anxiety is a free-fall from too-high-up,
Jetting toward the rock-hard,
Flailing in a grab-nothing way,
Screaming in a make-no-sound panic.

Anxiety is Good Friday.

Not in a Sunday’s-coming hope
In a hidden-through-Jerusalem grief.
Good Friday is dark Friday,
Black Friday,
Nothing-good-about-this-day Friday.

Good Friday is rough wood,
Rusted nails,
Sharp thorns.

But a hyacinth I believed long dead
Is growing purple among weeds,
Pushing up through hard ground
With aroma sweet as hope.


6 thoughts on “A Poem For Good Friday

    1. Oops…I wasn’t patient enough to wait for my first comment to show up. Oh well…your poem deserves 2 “beautiful”s.


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