On Long Good Fridays

As it arrives,
methodically, prophetically and endlessly,
I am left to question.
Is this Friday indeed a Good Friday?
Or, is it rather a Long Friday?
Do the hours stretch hands to inhuman shapes,
to cease at a point of a crucifix?
Or will they deviously turn until my limbs are torn apart,
and the crackling within my ribs affect my little heart?

For though the following days may make Friday good,
the hopes of resurrection redeem little,
as each lingering minute of the day of trial lives on,
beating another nail,
with each cursed tick-tock of the clock,
and each trudging beat of my heart.

Yes, this Friday will be long,
with a life time of hanging around between the dawn and evensong,
providing opportunity for reflective moments to unveil,
perhaps the only chance of good is indeed meagre and frail.
As I continue to linger on this Friday,
aware of the clouds of the sky,
and I know they won’t change their shades for my sake,
the only “good” in this day of loss,
is that each week, I find myself more accustomed to my cross.

By JPV

Copyright January 2006