A Good Friday Poem

Grey and dark the sun shown cold,

Rolling rain clouds a sad story told.

Innocent blood spilled the guilty stained,
Where once there was light nothing remained.

Oh what a day awful and yet pure,
Creating a melancholy nothing could cure.
Held on high a sign of true love,
Darkening the bright skies up above.

Only a few stayed to see,
In their hearts they asked how could it be.
Terrible awful hardly dared thought,
Looking up in vain hope they sought.

Terrible and tragic the sight that they saw,
A man held high he died without a flaw.
The Christ they knew and loved so dear,
There was nothing now just death and fear.

Christ on high with arms outstretched,
A symbol a memory in stone etched.
He came to the earth only to save,
Offered up to die his life he gave.

Killed by the people he never knew wrong,
His final breath left a sad song.
Awful and dark the day he died,
The angels saw wept and testified.

Was hope gone was any to be found,
None there seemed as Christ was placed in the ground.
Nothing to look for death seemingly had won,
Was this all there was Jesus' work done...


Photo Credit: Fine Art America