Good Friday

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is Easter.
Just trying to figure out the world, because I'm in another...
matmoo :)

Submitted: March 22, 2008

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Submitted: March 22, 2008

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Good Friday, Good Friday,
I wait on this hill.
To die, to die,
What a thing to die.

Far below, far below,
The world is writing,
The ink is running,
The blood is dripping,
The cuts from knives
run harder,
The blood is dripping.

And the nation is breaking,
The hope is failing.
All day long the bitter wind,
All day long the lonely sound
of wailing wolves and howling
cats scratching their behinds
on dark and damp
brick walls...
Screaming out to the night;
Where are you?
Where are you?


There's broken hearts,
There's breaking bridges,
They're famished.
They're starved.
And the only way out is
through "the kindess of strangers"...
And the only way out is
Selling yourself
Prostrate and naked to
Dance round the
May pole.

*

How bitter was the blood that broke you?
And flowed down from your Kingdom robes?
Or the scars of your sons and daughters,
Your drunken friends and lonely brothers.

Good Morning, Good Morning,
To wait on this hill,
To live, to live,
What a thing to live.


© Copyright 2017 matmoo. All rights reserved.

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