Joseph - On Good Friday
He’d seen his first born of Mary
hanging on the cross
the women were with him but he could not
because they would arrest him
with more pain for his son
Instead he chose darkness
in his workshop to weep
where he tried working wood
the same wood of the cross
Clasping a piece he falls to the floor
tears racking his body, consuming his grief
a darkened tomb enfolding him
in sobs where he lies
Wood shavings entwine the greying black hair
while dust covers his body and the sweat from his brow
They’d left him alone in respect of his grief
where he could become less than a man
without shame
the wood clasped in his hands, the same wood of the cross
searing his heart
A father’s love for his son
when does it end!
Written by Lucy Nanson [Anchorite]
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