Friday, April 6, 2012

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


Anonymous said...

today there is quiet
for my heart once
was opened
to the gentle healing
of His Grace

Karen Kyle Ericson said...

Beautiful! Very well written.

JofIndia said...

Appreciated, deeply appreciated..