Good Friday’s gone…

Good Friday’s gone…
What was good about it?
The triumph of cynical pragmatism
Oiled by silver in the hands of the right man?
A curious combination of tears, jeers and cheers
As political enemies and religious leaders
Thought they had got everything sorted.

But that was then
This is now.
Here, in this God forsaken place…
Where we go backwards instead of forwards
Everything has turned to ash.

Or maybe 
We’re in the unholy darkness of holy Saturday.
No one there to offer leadership
Everyone has run for cover
While young people bear stigmata
Bodies broken, blood shed.
Where is the hope?

We believe in the resurrection…
But perhaps even hope needs to die
Before it can really take place.


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