15 April 2006
Sonnet for Easter Saturday
Goglotha: The cliff face outside of the Garden Tomb, which resembles a skull.
I have always been fascinated with what the disciples must have felt on that day their Lord lay in the tomb: their despair, their feelings of betrayal, their denial, and maybe their hope?
Outside the rock, before the stone, we wait.
The sight of blood on gibbet silhouettes,
the images of spears and dice, remain,
and anguish does not fade although the weight
of daytime darkness lifted and this light
of sunbeams seems too bright for sorrow’s fading
frenzy, seems too thin for grieving fear:
garish, gilded, superficial light.
Inside the rock, behind the stone, You wait.
Your earth-suit wears the contours of its cloth,
which does not rise and fall with breath. Your self,
Your spirit-soul —- where does it wait?
This silence galls our listening and wounds
our waiting. Hope, poor fool, finds quiet in a tomb.