The Life of all that lives lays down his life
To die the death the dead deserve to die;
The Blessed One for us becomes accursed—
Though sinless, bears what sinful men deserve.
The sun withholds its light for three long hours
Until the Son, who is the world’s true Light,
Has given up his spirit—made an end—
And in what seems defeat won victory.
Today being Good Friday, I wanted to write a poem suitable for the day. This is what I came up with. It’s more fragmentary than I like, but will have to do. Previous years’ Good Friday poems include Pascha, Friday, and Passion.
As always, I earnestly welcome your (further) comments, suggestions (perhaps of a real title for this poem?), questions, critique, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. If you liked this, you can follow this blog, which includes one of my poems nearly every Friday, or read other poems I’ve written (perhaps starting with those linked from one of the “archive” installments, since the full archive is by now, at over two hundred poems, somewhat daunting). You may also share this poem with others, subject to my sharing policy.
This poem is also mirrored on my wiki.