Thursday, April 14, 2016

Mary the Mother of Jesus: A Good Friday Sonnet

Oh my son. Oh my son. Oh my son. Oh my beautiful baby boy....
My heart is breaking for you; I'm dying inside; I can't even speak.
I want to die instead of you. But you are so strong; and I am weak.
You are hanging there with nails in your hands. You are in so much pain.
And I can't help but to think of the night you were born... and of the rain
That was falling cool and hard. And of how Joseph was annoyed,
Surely somebody has some place for a pregnant woman to have her child!”
There was plenty of pain that night. But now it is you, not me, travailing -
Birthing God's promised redemption. It's been a treasure never failing
For me since the angel spoke. But I know that first you must be reviled
...and die. The light has gone out of the sky. This darkness is heavy like lead.
Soon, though you deserve only the very best from us all, you'll be dead.
Oh my son. Oh my son. Oh my son. Oh my beautiful baby boy....

I am dying with you, in front of you. Dear God, my beautiful boy.

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