(thoughts approaching Easter 6)
Friday approaches
like a black cloud on a dark sky.
Stealing through the strangling night
it brings a morrow like no other.
Blood stands at its entrance;
a door that allows no exit
but invites pain
and separation in its portal.
We walk to the hill of proclamation
alone in the witnessing crowd,
alone in an embarrassment of emotion,
alone and stranded on an island of fear.
This hill holds no secrets
but gossips its hollow victory
to troubled, trembled, souls
that do not comprehend
but see only finality, darkness'
eternal storms
and an immovable stone -
there is no hope, no opening beyond.
Elsewhere a curtain breaks like dawn.
Light shines in
and out
from a Holy place.
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