A priest testifies

The darkness started

at the sixth hour a heaviness

we lit the lamps

to gloom hovered, oppressive,

within the courts, almost

stifling, confusing the day

there were murmurs

about the man crucified

The ninth hour, the sound

the tearing, awful, like

a soul ripping apart,

the curtain torn like flimsy

cloth, the holy of holies laid

bare, priests shouting,

screaming, cries of who

did this, the Lord is leaving

his house, our house, leaving

his people – don’t strike me

again I am telling only what

I saw and heard then the earth

shaking we ran to the courts

outside fearing the temple

would crash upon our heads

heard the cries and screams

in the streets, people huddling

end of time end of time.

I saw no dead walking but

others said the graves opened

but that curtain torn

no man could do that

only YHWH

Painting: Curtain by Harold Sikkema at NSITU.ca.