A Dark Weekend
They found the innocent
guilty.
Pilate knew!
But people-added to the band wagon
overlooking
truth, flew
to add to His affliction.
Spite was their addiction.
That weekend-started out so dark
where He hung on a tree,
a T-shaped form of bark.
He died between two sinners.
One accepted Him, there, as He hung
in agony and pain.
The other denied Him, there,
mocking His aim.
The sun, the stars, closed their eyes.
Some saw the consequences of their lies.
His ordeal was over, there.
He still lives, do you know where?
© 2002 Carol Dee Meeks
c_pmeeks@hotmail.com http://home.comcast.net/~pkmeeks/