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Christianity

Sonrise - A Poem by E.M. Parke
By E M Parke
Apr 6, 2014 - 12:25:04 AM

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I am about to attempt to type out my Easter poem, 'Sonrise,' the crucifiction as seen through the eyes of Mary Magdalene. I wrote it on 19/03/1983. A poet, maybe, but not a spectacularly prolific one. Please feel free to publish my poem if you would like to. I think it's not a bad effort for a first. E.M. Parke

SONRISE

But Judas, we knew you, we loved you, you were one of us.
Thirty pieces of silver to throw down in the dust?
Judas, I just can't comprehend. He was our friend. He was our friend.

I saw him shuffled through the streets. I heard the accusing tones.
As a lamb before her shearers dumb, not one protest arose.
Alone, rejected, bleeding, sore, where are your mighty men?
If I were more than just a maid, I'd set You free again!

Oh Lord, how could he do this,(and for a price so small,)
Where's fearless Peter with his sword? Does he not care at all?
Where's John and James and Thomas? Oh Lord why aren't they here?
Judas should come and see this! His price was not so dear!

Lord! They can't make you carry that, not on a back so torn!
Oh Lord, the cross is so heavy and you're so battered and worn.
Not nails, Lord! Not nails! It could have just been rope.
You could have broken through it, you could have left me that hope.

And here he comes with the hammer, Lord, don't give him your hands!
Just call out to the Father. Kill him right where he stands!
The THUD......the THUD....... Oh Master, until the day I die
That sound will echo through my head and I'll see You lifted high.

Lord, don't give up Your spirit, oh Lord, don't bow Y our head.
Oh Jesus, I'm so all alone, Oh Lord, You can't be DEAD!
To me, my Lord was everything. The love we shared was pure.
I stand here gazing at spilt blood......oh how can I endure?

So......Joseph has a tomb, I hear. Oh, well, wealth has it's place.
They're taking down the body now. Their tears splash on His face.
They're wrapping Him so carefully. I was so sure He'd rise!
It's gone now, though, my faintest hope......How still and cold He lies.

And now they've taken everything, His poor, decaying flesh.....
They stripped Him of His majesty and now they steal afresh!
I only wanted just to sit and guard His resting place,
But now He's gone.....I know not where and tears stream down my face.

'Mary.' He called. He spoke to me. (The gardener dressed in white.)
He turned His face and looked at me. I melted at the sight.
'Raboni, Lord, my Master,' You rolled the stone away!
You live, You reign triumphant. Yes, You're alive today!!!!!!!!!

by E M Parke.


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