Good Friday, 2015

All the cacophony:
traffic in and out of the city;
crying tourist babies, hushing tourist parents;
troops changing the guard, marching, shuffling, barking
(after all, a show of force keeps things safe);
deliveries, the wheels groaning under the cargo
as everybody tries to be done with work before sunset.
The hucksters are hawking wares
(of varying degrees of quality),
the thieves are working more quietly
—so are various politicians and entrepreneurs—
all out to make their quota before the world goes dark,
before the solemn holiday begins.
A pounding cuts though the noise;
a pounding and ringing (hammer on nail);
a pounding and ringing and screams of anguish,
hammer on nail on . . . oh, God . . . my God . . .
. . . and dark comes early . . .
. . . and there’s only one voice:
. . . anguished . . .
. . . forgiving . . .
. . . comforting . . .
. . . helping . . .
. . . instructing . . .
. . . pleading . . .
. . . resigned . . .
. . . then a rumble . . .
. . . then light . . .
. . . the cacophony resumes . . .

Why does the world seem different now?

christ-of-st-john-of-the-cross

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