Veronicas Story
I watched him when he was just a boy
Looking wide eyed in the carpenters house
As Joseph carved and crafted wood.
Then years later, I heard him teaching
On the shores of the lake in Gallilee
Carving the souls of all who listened
With teaching that came from such depths.
He spoke with authority, wisdom and love
Capturing all those present with his truth
As he had captured so many fish hours earlier.
But on that day
I stood on a corner in Jerusalem.
In the distance, the babble of a crowd
Jeering , laughing and shouting,
A cacophony of hate, approached.
The hot afternoon sun’s draining heat
Seemed only to fuel the mobs anger.
As they came near, I saw a man
Carrying a heavy, wooden cross.
His head bent. body stooped
Blood dripping from the thorny crown
The soldiers had forced upon his head.
I gasped to see this human frame
As it collapsed upon the dusty street
Unable to bear the terrible weight
Of the heavy wooden beams
And the sins of mankind.
I ran to him, an urge to do something
Overpowered any fear of the soldiers
I placed a cloth over his blood stained face
He looked at me with gentle eyes
Now I could see his features
I recognised him , he was Jesus.
I folded away the cloth
That bore the imprint of his face
Etched in blood and sweat .
In the depth of his pain and torment
He looked at me with eyes full of love
The impression they made on my soul
Was so immense, so powerful
That tears were flowing down my face.
I backed away as the crowd moved on.
Later I saw them take his fractured body
From the blood stained cross.
I watched as his mother held her son
Before they took his body away.
To the tomb that had been prepared.
But would not prove to be
His final resting place.
For I knew, in that moment, when I looked
Into the face of the son of God.
He would rise again
As he had said.
Easter Poetry Contest
Sponsor Regina McIntosh
7/4/22
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