Good Friday

Here is Death’s sting:

On a cross and nails

An immortal man is dying.

And the misery that echoes in his tears

Sets the devils to dancing.

The red sun fails,

And limitless night swallows the sky.

And under the weight of the sinking soul

The earth trembles.

When God is dead,

When blood and baptism

Are speared from a tortured saviour

Then I hide from hearing a mother’s grief,

Wailing from the foot of that bloody hill.

I have Macbeth’s hands,

And the blood of my king

Soaks my guilty deeds.

How can I live

When I killed the only man

Who would give his life for me?

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