Joseph  -  On Good Friday  

He’d seen his first born of Mary

hanging on the cross

the women were with him but he could not

because they would arrest him

with more pain for his son

Instead he chose darkness

in his workshop to weep

where he tried working wood

the same wood of the cross

Clasping a piece he falls to the floor

tears racking his body, consuming his grief

a darkened tomb enfolding him

in sobs where he lies

Wood shavings entwine the greying black hair

while dust covers his body and the sweat from his brow

They’d left him alone in respect of his grief

where he could become less than a man

without shame

the wood clasped in his hands, the same wood of the cross

searing his heart 

A father’s love for his son

when does it end!

Written by Lucy Nanson [Anchorite]