Blood- Red Dawn
A crimson tide o'er Golgotha ascends,
No chalice held, a sacrifice untold.
The Holy Week, a shroud that slowly rends,
Mourning flocks, adrift from faith's secure fold.
A traitor’s kiss, a friendship bought and sold;
Peter's denial, a love that cannot mend.
A crown of thorns, a cruel and mocking hold,
The weight of sin on Christ, Savior, true friend.
Through Gethsemane's forsaken, shadowed mire,
He trod, a steadfast soul, with love's eternal fire.
His final breath, a lamented prayer, a ragged cry,
A promise etched in every gasping sigh.
From darkest night, a radiant dawn shall rise,
Redemption’s hymn, a dove, takes to the skies.
Though flesh may fail, love’s covenant remains,
A chalice brimming, hope never dies, breaks the chains.
Copyright ©
Daniel Henry Rodgers
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