Good Black Friday

My God, My God, why have you forsaken me? Can’t you hear me as I bleed? Please return my glance; please answer back – Why is Black Friday good And Good Friday black? Can’t anyone answer for the pain; Can’t anyone explain the Sunday morning rain running down the tortured terrain of the hidden faces in forbidden places, On runaway one-way trains racing fates they can’t face, Living the past confessions of the masked men around them, And breathing breaths kept in by the rest who walk past these cracked windows and deny their reflection? Dying in the deep shade of the tree they plea, My God My God, why have you forsaken me? But nobody cares Because it’s just a dying plea, Not a real prayer.