It seemed this day the world could end;
The Moon danced around the Sun,
The foundations to the Temple shook,
As the Holocaust begun.
They took his bleeding body,
And anointed it with oils,
His mother held him, in her blood stained dress;
Her tears, soaked into Golgotha’s soil.
Was this the one promised by their God?
Or some Messiah come too soon?
The wolves howled from the mountain tops,
As the large stone sealed his tomb;
His followers had all dispersed;
John, alone stood by the cross.
The one who’s kiss betrayed him,
– Hung on a tree in Potters Field –
Thirty pieces of silver, still in his purse.
John Anthony Fingleton (Mars 2016) (Löst Viking)