Good Friday…

The silt of years had settled in the veil,

Woven with cherubim, a purple stain

That held the terror and the holy grail

Of blood-spat law, now torn for all our gain.

The wood, long seeded from a rooted wrong

In Eden’s glade, grew straight to pierce the sky.

Its shadow fell with hymn and carper’s song

Forgot the groan of justice passing by.

He who did no wrong was naked hung,

until no breath, just stretched and tortured lung.

A pain more terrible than you or I could bare

Satan thought he’d caught him in his snare.

The sun, that clock of genesis, withdrew

Its face as if ashamed to see the light

Tortured by creatures made to hold it true,

And in that dark, the Father’s own noon-night.

“My God, my God, why have you let me go?”

Not a question but a psalm’s first thread

The whole of sorrow stringing every woe

Upon a cross that death could not outspread.

Then breath returned to Giver, and the stone

That seals the tomb is but the womb of days.

For Friday’s silence is the seed, alone,

That bursts on Sunday into endless praise.

---

Image generation by Copilot, ChatGPT or WordPress Ai.

Please subscribe. Let’s support each other. I always follow back genuine writers, poets, and artists.

© Richard J Kirk writing as Joseph R Mason – 2026. If you want to know why, see: About Me…

If you like what you read, treat me to a coffee.

Check on Amazon UK or Amazon USA for all publications

Thank you.