Throats on the Sword’s Edge 02 of 06
Do Not Weep for Me
The pain, the pain, the pain
my head throbs with burning pain
burning waves of searing pain
my back be raw and aflame
hands and feet cannot move
scream with the nails driven through
am panting, for iron bands seem to squeeze
around my chest to suffocate me
so hard to breathe, every breath be agony.
So too with the thieves on either side
one who cursed and screamed now moans
silent be Damian who asked I remember him
even the executioners at our feet
now are too bored to jeer and mock
the Romans wager on thrown dice
as those who bayed for my blood
with Barabbas and the ghouls
have gone to taverns and houses of shame.
The sun, the blazing sun beats down
my lips are blistered, throat be parched
tongue be swollen, and I thirst so much
nay, old Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus
my trusted and dear old friends still true
water, water be not thine to give to me
but ask the Centurion for mercy to show
though he be half-blind and worn with care
perhaps cool water he will give in pity.
Oh, mother, beloved mother do not weep
do not weep for me but behold thy son
standing next to thee whose name be John
and John my dearest brother still so stout
look ye at she who stands so stricken
yet for me so strong at the very end
gazing tenderly up at me but with
much suffering in her haunted eyes
John, she be Mary, now thy mother.
Oh, my eyes, my eyes
the blood has flowed into my eyes
all be red haze and I cannot see
I am wrapped and racked with pain
my body be on fire, cannot breathe
my mind be wandering, let it end
Father, forgive them for they know
not what they do, yet no more do I
and what have I done amiss?
Father, why hath thou forsaken me?
This terrible dying be so slow
it be so very, very long
yet, Father, even when all has come
to this and even though now I doubt
thy will and not mine be done
ah, it be so hard to breathe with the pain
in my chest but thorns and nails are numb
now must lift my head up one last time.
Lo, the daylight fades, all be dim
storm wind from desert blows dark clouds
to snuff the blazing sun above my head
ah, at last, at last no more pain
final minute be here … seconds now are falling
I am so very, very weary … ah, let it end
Father, into Thy Hands
I commend my spirit
it be finished!
Over the years on Gather, I have published 10 Easter poems – some of them in a series.Â I thought it timely to republish six poems from the collection – one per day until Easter Sunday.Â I will use the same series title as I did before.
Throats on the Sword’s Edge