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# <u>TGIF</u>


Flagella flinging
stinging bare back
attacked with malice
for the sin of bold benevolence
pestilence afflicted upon sacred skin
beginning the precious process of redemption,
tremendous burden placed upon shoulders shrouded in crimson
carried across crowds calling for carnal consequence
as men of prominence and stature play witness to the rapture
of divinity
obscenities assaulting ears
as tears from women weeping
fall, seeping into the soil
like the royal blood flowing from the crown
the ground colored red from the ransom

the appalling sound of his breathless body
falling down upon death’s hill
dead still until
consciousness comes compelled by pain
of strained muscles whipped into contraction
an earthly reaction from a heavenly portal
as our mortal ways
dim the rays of the sun
and the Son crumbles
stumbling under our yoke
his broken will...
those whips still killing
the redemption still spilling in the sand
when the Cyrenian man
is forced to carry his share and ours
for the one whose scars would not heal,
but reveal the proof that

Life conquers death

his breath,
shallow near the top
as the congregation stops

The Cyrenian’s burden relieved
No longer to be heaved for him
Whose limbs are now seized
And squeezed into place…for securing
Hammers and nails ensuring
Arms to icon affixed
among the convicts he was raised
and praised, in jest
his chest, bare
but his arms, wide
the heavens cried
the spear, in his side.

The path to the throne
was shone
for those who would follow still
willing to spill
their share of the burden
For us...

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Image above is a derivative work from a low resolution image of Salvador Dali's Christ of St. John on the Cross.  It is also considered fair use as the poem was inspired by the image and is a critical commentary on the scene it represents.
<center>Thanks for reading.  Please feel free to share your thoughts below. 

I always post this poem on good Friday as I think it is appropriate for the day. When I think about the events described within, I think about the power of sacrifice and the courage of those who experience it whether by choice or force. Whether you believe in the divinity of Christ or not, one thing is certain; his sacrifice meant something and has very likely affected your life in one way or another. 

This year, I find myself thinking about the last lines of the poem. I wrote it from a perception that at times, we are all called to carry our cross. Sometimes that can be a difficult task to accept. I think back on times I've shied away from the sacrifice I was called to make, and it makes the sacrifice of Christ that much more meaningful. 

Please let me know your thoughts. 

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