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 We live much of life amid unique choices. Joy is anchored in The One beyond our life. |
| Events so awful are now done. The passions of the crowd, released. The death-shroud blankets o'er The Son. All "Crucify Him!" screams are ceased. All evil beasts exult, "We've won!" Believers tremble in a hold. The hope of all that's good is gone. The world has darkened, demons bold. The silence of the chirping din could mark that even insects knew The Lord of all creation's been reduced in death as one who's through. A skullish mount in stillness lies. A boulder seals the cave's grave door. One wonders if the sky now cries at He, Whose strength was known before. So, one more rabble-rousing voice has been dispatched to silent be. He could have lived, if by His choice He had bowed to those who ruled o'er He. But which of these had known His Heart. He came not to be pleasant, fair, but to give lost ones a new start. He bore our shame and lasting care. The night agreed with Man's verdict. So, holding fast the bier ensconced. The new day would awake, untricked, unknowing, that now Time lay minced. What grave could hold auspicious Dead? What fiend could seal His lasting fate? What damned could know defeat had bred this Victory forever Great? by Jay O’Toole on April 19th, 2025   |
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