Centurion's Elegy
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For those who observe Good Friday, may God fill your heart
with the hope of the resurrection
The crowd is mixed -
some on their knees,
some raise their fists,
some sob their pleas.
Who is this man
whose flesh is torn...
what was his crime
to cause such scorn?
Why do sharp thorns
torment his head
when only words
of love were said?
Why do my nails
now splinter hands
that brought compassion
to this land?
Where goes the sun
in midday rain -
as though the heavens
weep in pain?
Where are your friends
(as cold winds blow)
who hailed you king
five days ago?
Why not apply
your godly power
to save yourself
in your dark hour?
Yet as I mock
he looks at me -
no guile nor hate,
just sympathy.
This cold wind chills
me to the bone,
and yet his warmth
has found a home.
Where goes the sun
in midday rain?
I pray this Son
will rise again.
Written 14 April 2022
Copyright © John Watt | Year Posted 2022
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