The Innisfree Poetry Journal

www.innisfreepoetry.org

by Janice D. Soderling

Good Friday

Throughout the day, we weren't allowed to laugh, 
but, chafing at restricted wiggle-room, 
were charged to sit bereft on Christ's behalf, 
rebellious in the stifling midday gloom.

Our petty sins and shortfalls fostered grief. 
We sat disconsolate; we sat long-faced 
and quaking with no promise of relief. 
Our thoughts were neither dutiful nor chaste. 

Abysmal brimstone pits of smoke and flame. 
Eternal torment, worms and endless woe. 
Good Friday was ordained for guilt and shame. 
Hellfire and sure damnation weighed us low. 

Such heavy burdens for a child to bear: 
hedonic spring exploding everywhere.