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Good Friday
Tim Vanderstoep
Darkness shrouds the dry-cracking mound.
Three crosses blur against the storm-twisted sky.
Three shadows of men condemned to die.
No smooth, varnished cross
bears the One crushed
by the Father's fury.
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Hands gripping swords,
bright legions await a word
The Lamb is silent.
The word of release
never uttered.
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The chalice lifted to the lips,
the poison swallowed down
such suffering...
Throw yourself down!
Silence the sneering lips!
Widen the narrowed eyes!
If you are the Christ!
But no.
The silence struggle
suffering strength
they prove
you are
the Christ.
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