We nailed the hands long ago, <br />Wove the thorns, took up the scourge and shouted <br />For excitement's sake, we stood at the dusty edge <br />Of the pebbled path and watched the extreme of pain. <br /> <br />But one or two prayed, one or two <br />Were silent, shocked, stood back <br />And remembered remnants of words, a new vision, <br />The cross is up with its crying victim, the clouds <br />Cover the sun, we learn a new way to lose <br />What we did not know we had <br />Until this bleak and sacrificial day, <br />Until we turned from our bad <br />Past and knelt and cried out our dismay, <br />The dice still clicking, the voices dying away.<br /><br />Elizabeth Jennings<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/friday/
