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