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Good Friday - a reflective sonnet

I stand watching, feet frozen to the ground.
I wanted to run, wanted to pretend
That this wasn't real, that he would be found
Back on the fishing boat. Did he intend
To end his life like this, in so much pain?
He entered the city just days ago
To a king's welcome. What? Did the crowds feign
Their hosannas? Why do they no longer show
Their love for him, preferring Barabbas.
Even before they brought him to this hill
His face was bloodied, his body a mass
Of welts, Pilate's soldiers they had their fill,
Jeering and mocking the 'King of the Jews'
Jesus, the friend I cannot bear to lose.


Jane Thompson

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