It’s Good Friday
When the hordes
Demanded blood
Not theirs but another’s
For the sin of uttering words
They didn’t want to hear
For not uttering the words
They wanted to hear
Words that rang, that sang, that clanged
In their heads
Of a Reality that doesn’t exist.
It’s Good Friday
When the people
Demanded a sacrifice
Not theirs but another’s
For the sin of uttering truth
They didn’t want to hear
For not uttering the lies
They wanted to hear
Truth that comforted them, that swung into sleep
Visions in their heads
Of a Reality that doesn’t exist.
It’s Good Friday
The curtain ripped
A life died
A life demanded
Into hell it sank
What is your blood?
What is your sacrifice?
